;'•'<♦' h- ]
!.H| l!iv . ,,
Brown, E.A. \/
MEMORIAL HALL LIBRARY
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H B. MCARDLE
EDNA A. BROWN
THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
UNCLE DAVID'S BOYS
WHEN MAX CAME
ARNOLD'S LITTLE BROTHER
ARCHER AND THE "PROPHET'
THE SPANISH CHEST
AT THE BUTTERFLY HOUSE
FOR YOUNGER READERS
THE SILVER BEAR
THE CHINESE KITTEN
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
EDNA A. BROWN
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO,
By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co-
All Rights Reserved
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
U. S. A.
« HARRIET and JOE
I. In Which Amory and Caroline Discuss
THE Past, Present, and Future . . 1 1
II. In Which Amory Misses a Train and
Visits the D'Este Princess . . i8
III. In Which Amory Arrives in Freeport . 30
IV. In Which Amory Meets Two Girls and
Rescues a Lady from^Peril ... 43
V. In Which Amory Hears a Story and
Makes an Important Decision . . 60
VI. In Which Amory Visits John HowLAND . ']']
VII. In Which Amory Helps a Damsel in Dis-
tress AND Sees the White wing Again . 93
VIII. In Which Amory Considers the Dragon . 103
IX. In Which Elizabeth Loses Her Temper
AND Looks Over a High Wall . .114
X. In Which Billy Thinks He is Dying . 125
XI. In Which Amory Breaks a Glass Shade . 134
XII. In Which Lydia Meets v^^ith Misfortune
AND Amory Plans A Picnic . . -14^
XIII. In Which Amory and Elizabeth Go Sail-
ing AND Something Mysterious Happens 158
XIV. In Which Elizabeth Makes a Call and
Amory Asks a Favor . . . .178
XV. In Which Amory and Elizabeth Go to a
In Which Mr. Emerson Sleeps Late and
His Daughter Receives a Message . 213
In Which Amory Sails a Race and Tells
A Girl That He Loves Her . .231
In Which Amory and Elizabeth Follow
the Primrose Path . . . .2^8
In Which Aunt Eunice is III and Lydia
Sees a Ghost . . . . , 268
In Which Elizabeth is Superstitious and
Amory is Sceptical .... 276
In Which Caroline Discourses on
Devils and Amory and Elizabeth Visit
the Dunes 290
In Which Elizabeth Loses Something
In Which Elizabeth Acts in Haste . 323
In Which Things Happen Thick and Fast 3 34
In Which Aunt Eunice Considers Amory
In Which Elizabeth Repents Very Much
AT Her Leisure ....
In Which Elizabeth Changes Her Mind
In Which Mrs. Emerson Comes Home
AND John Howland Visits His Safe
In Which Amory and Elizabeth Go Out
in the Wmiteiving and the Dragon
Vanishes Forever . . . .
«* O traveller, who hast wandered far
'Neath southern sun and northern star,
Say where the fairest regions are !
" Friend, underneath whatever skies
Love looks in love-returning eyes,
There are the bowers of paradise."
— Clinton Scollard.
IN WHICH AMORY AND CAROLINE DISCUSS THE PAST,
PRESENT^ AND FUTURE
AT the bottom of her heart, Mrs. Jermain
Chittick did not really expect her brother
to remain long as her guest, and was pre-
pared to hear at the close of the third evening that
he was leaving in the morning for Freeport. She
received the announcement with only a conven-
tional expression of regret, but shortly followed
him to his room.
" Let me come in, Amory," she said as he opened
the door in answer to her knock. " You don^t look
sleepy and I want to talk. Go on with your pack-
ing. Tell me why you want to go back to that for-
"It's my home, Carol, and I don't consider it
forsaken," replied her brother. Caroline, in her
flame-colored evening dress, her dusky hair and
white face thrown into relief by the dark velvet of
the chair into which she had flung herself, was in
12 JOUKNEY'S END
Amory's eyes far more attractive than wlien he bslvj
her half an hour before, bent over a bridge table, a
cigarette between her fingers. Now, she seemed
more like the sister of his boyhood, who sometimes
spent the long summers in the ancestral Russell
home at Freeport.
" Uncle Robert is dead," Caroline observed dis-
passionately, " two years ago.''
" That is all the more reason why I should go to
Aunt Eunice. I half feel that I did wrong not to
come back from France as soon as I got my dis-
charge after the armistice, but I had that oppor-
tunity to work in Paris. Aunt Eunice wrote me to
stay, and it was fine practice, but now I want to
see Freeport again. Of course you feel differently,
Carol. Grandmother Payne brought you up, but I
wa» only four when I came to Journey's End. I
don't know any other home nor any parents but
Aunt Eunice and Uncle Robert."
" It's queer," remarked Caroline, " how different
our lives have been. I wonder if it was quite fair."
" To which of us? " asked Amory.
" Whether it was fair to separate us and put us
in such different environments. There were you,
brought up as a Friend in old Freeport, with all
that implies, sent to Friends' School and to a
Quaker college, and everything was exactly oppo-
site with me."
THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE 13
" I don't see tliat we had any choice in the matter
nor did those who were responsible for us. They
only carried out directions. Father promised
Mother that you should be taken to Grandmother
Payne. And when he died so soon afterwards, it
was perhaps equally natural that he should want
me to stay with his people."
" Poor Father ! " said Caroline. " Imagine him
running away from college at twenty-one to marry
Mother, and she was only seventeen! Crazy chil-
dren that they were and yet they knew what love
was. And now I am twenty-eight and have been
married seven years. Of course you must go to
see Aunt Eunice but why should you settle in Free-
port? I know all about you, Amory; I know that
you graduated from Johns Hopkins 'way up in your
class, and that you did brilliant work in France.
And now you are back you ought to start practising
medicine in some place where your abilities will
" If you go back to Freeport," Caroline went on,
surveying him through half -closed lashes, " I can
prophesy exactly what will happen to you. In ten
days the holy calm of Journey's End will soak you
through and through like an opiate. You will be
bound hand and foot. You will be like the lotus-
eaters Aunt Eunice used to read us about from
the leather-covered Tennyson. You will settle
14 JOURNEY'S END
down and put out your shingle in Freeport and at-
tend meeting on First Days and live in lethargy
until the day of doom."
Amory, sitting on the edge of the table, his hands
in his pockets, merely smiled at this graphic pic-
" You will marry," Caroline continued, cocking
her head at him, " a girl who parts her hair in the
middle, a girl with big eyes and the disposition of
an angel and the ambition of a cow. And the worst
of it is that you will be contented, Amory."
"What do you want me to do?" asked her
brother, grinning in spite of himself.
" You are too good for such a fate," pronounced
Caroline. "You are too good-looking, Amory.
You really have a manner ; even I perceive it. You
are actually distinguished and that little air of
courteous dignity suits your style to a T. You
have beautiful gray eyes and a mouth like a Greek
statue, and if you weren't my brother, I should fall
upon your neck and insist on remaining there ! "
Amory Russell received this remark in scornful
silence. Caroline broke into a peal of laughter.
" You blushed ! " she accused him. " I wanted to
see if I could make you. Amory, you'd be a howl-
ing success as a New York physician. You've the
necessary looks, you've the manner, you've the
money to start as you ought. In two years you'd
THE PAST, PKESENT, AND FUTUKE 15
be one of tlie fashionable ladies' doctors of the
" That is the last thing I care to be," said Amory
curtly. "A fashionable doctor and a fashionable
minister can be classed alike as mighty poor stuff."
Caroline grew serious. " But don't waste your-
self on Freeport," she repeated. "It will be a
waste, Amory. Settle in New York and let me in-
troduce you. I can do a lot to get you started."
" I must go to Freeport and see Aunt Eunice,"
said her brother decidedly. " What I do then will
depend on circumstances. It isn't a question of
the money I can make, Carol. As you say, I can
afford to start where I choose. Net every doctor
can do that. But if Aunt Eunice needs me, I owe
it to her to consider that in making my plans."
" I went down when Uncle Robert died," observed
Caroline, still watching him critically. " It was
the depth of winter, and everything was pretty
ghastly. I thought it was my duty to go, especially
since you were across and couldn't be there."
"Come down with me to-morrow," proposed
Amory. " Can't you chuck all this and spend the
summer there? We'll get out the Whitewing and
sail the harbor and picnic on Clam Island. We'll
scare up some horses and ride the dunes and the
beach as we used to do, with the wind in our hair
and the spray in our faces."
16 JOUKNEY'S END
For a moment Caroline's eyes widened and the
tired expression left them.
" There was rather a peace about Journey's
End," she said half to herself. " Somehow one
wanted to be good and there were pleasant thoughts
to think. I wonder how it would be now if I had
been the one left in Freeport and you had gone to
" I can't imagine," said Amory frankly.
" I can't see myself growing up in Journey's
End," Caroline went on, the far-away look vanish-
ing from her eyes. " Bad little black sheep that I
was, I should have worried poor unworldly Aunt
Eunice into an early grave. No, it was best as it
was. At least, I haven't her death on my con-
" Come home with me, Carol. You're looking
rather seedy. Remember your little brother is an
M. D. now. Your face tells tales."
" Then I must have it enameled," said Caroline,
rising briskly from her chair. " I'm perfectly well
and I can't come with you, old chap ; it couldn't be
managed. After all, perhaps New York isn't the
place for you. You deserve a pretty good fate. I
shan't see you before you go to-morrow, so give my
love to dear Aunt Eunice and to old Lydia, and —
yes, to the girl I might have been."
Caroline kissed her brother, and for a moment
THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE 11
Amory lield her close. Carol was only two years
older tlian he, and life, which, looked so promising
to him, seemed to have done something rather cruel
to her. There was her lovely home on the Hudson,
— a childless home — where she and her handsome,
heavy-featured husband lived side by side, the cur-
rents of their lives scarcely touching. To Amory,
fresh from experiences that were very real and ter-
ribly tragic, Caroline's existence seemed pitifully
frivolous and sadly out of tune. It was stamped
with unrest and she, like all the world, seemed look-
ing for something, but did she, more than any of the
others, know what she sought?
IN WHICH AMORY MISSES A TRAIN AND VISITS THE
DR. RUSSELL left Cornwall the next morn-
ing, stopped in New York for some hours
and finally missed his connections at
Providence. Since there was no possible hope of
getting through to Freeport that night, he checked
his bag at the station and went out in search of a
The six o^clock high tide of automobiles and elec-
tric cars was gradually receding and the wide ex-
panse of Exchange Place was only ordinarily
crowded as Amory surveyed it from the top of the
viaduct. To a casual glance it looked as though
one might possibly reach the corner of Dorrance
Street without losing either life or limb. The dan-
gers of Exchange Place were not unknown to
Amory, for as a boy he had attended school in
A sudden memory of that vanished time made
him swerve as he crossed the little park before the
station to look closely at the fountain ornamenting
AMOKY MISSES A TKAIN 19
the slope. Through some momentary aberration of
the sculptor, one of its figures possessed six toes,
and Amory smiled involuntarily as lie saw that
years had brought no correction of the bronze de-
Once across the square, he hesitated between two
hotels and finally chose a small restaurant. Judg-
ing from their appearance the few patrons were col-
lege boys from the university on the hill, and a pale-
faced cashier was the only woman in evidence.
The sight of the boys revived in Amory a recollec-
tion of his own school days, and when he had com-
pleted his meal and paid his check he sauntered
into the warm twilight of the long June evening,
directing his steps toward College Hill, that steep-
est of paths toward the shrine of education. The
university at its head was not his own Alma Mater,
but he was sufficiently familiar with its campus and
buildings to be interested in seeing them again.
For an instant he stopped to look at the clock-
tower dominating the campus. Day after day,
hundreds of boys hurrying from one recitation to
another, glanced at its face, carelessly, thought-
lessly, quite unconscious that they were absorbing
as a part of their future lives its memorial message :
Love is Strong as Death. But in time to come,
that truth would recur to many as a golden gleam
through the years.
20 JOURNEY'S END
In the vicinity of the college the East Side had
not changed very much, though some new buildings
had been erected and more of the neighboring
houses now seemed devoted to Greek-letter societies.
The narrow streets, with their curiously pious
names, Benefit, Benevolent, Hope, were yet bor-
dered by prosperous, well-kept homes, but the cable-
cars of Amory's day no longer plunged headlong
down the cliff -like street leading to the lower level
of the town. All car-lines appeared to have van-
ished from that section of the city, and it was not
until he caught sight of an electric tram disappear-
ing into a yawning gulf that Amory recalled the
existence of a tunnel below the hill.
There were people in Providence who would give
him a warm welcome should he present himself at
their hospitable doors, for the old city of Roger
Williams still harbored a considerable number of
the Society of Friends. And to be a Russell of
Freeport, Massachusetts, was open sesame to the
household of any Friend.
Amory did not feel inclined to ring the bell of
any of the mansions which would have greeted him
warmly. He craved no human companionship, but
rather was contented to revive memories long dor-
mant, suggested by the streets and sights about
The Friends' School, now flourishing under an-
AMOKY MISSES A TKAIN 21
other name, had enlarged its equipment and bound-
aries since Amory's day. School was over for the
year and the buildings looked dark and unoccupied
as he wandered through the grounds, looking for
familiar landmarks. He found the big tree where
he and his chum, Putnam Avery, used to conceal
themselves among the foliage to read lurid and
light literature looked upon askance by those in
authority. He saw, too, the windows of the room
he and Put shared for three years. Putnam was
sleeping under the poppies of France now, un-
spared by his Quaker blood.
Darkness was falling over the city when Amory
completed his stroll and returned to lower levels.
On the way down the hill he passed a building bril-
liantly lighted and with huge bill-boards announc-
ing a Venetian carnival for the benefit of the Red
Cross. Amory looked at his watch. Only a quar-
ter to nine and his train did not leave until ten.
Following a sudden impulse, which at the time he
could not explain and afterwards could not account
for, he went up the steps of the hall, paid his admis-
sion fee and entered.
Inside, the carnival was at its height in a really
charming setting of Venetian scenes and palaces,
where strayed velvet-robed doges and stately dames
who looked as though they might have stepped
straight from the pictures of Titian and Veronese.
22 JOUKNEY'S END
Only a small portion of the assembly was in cos-
tume, but the little leavened the whole. Amory
bought some candy from a small boy in a blue
doublet and white silk hose ; a rose from a girl who
might have danced out of Botticelli's Spring^ had
that astute painter averted his eye for a second.
On either side of the hall stood booths for the
sale of those extraordinary and nameless articles
which appear like sporadic growths in the wake of
every church bazaar and charity entertainment.
To avoid them Dr. Eussell steered a straight course
down the middle of the room. His natural cour-
tesy made it difficult to refuse any request from a
lady, and to-night it was obviously impossible, a
bird of passage as he was, to load himself with in-
At the extreme end, he paused by a little plat-
form to take a general view of the scenery and the
company, a view which he found not without inter-
est, while wholly unconscious that he himself was
an object of interest to others. Caroline was right
in telling him that he was " distinguished " ; to a
marked degree he possessed that subtle character-
istic which is a quality neither wholly physical nor
entirely mental. In Amory's case, it was empha-
sized by the poise and calm acquired from his
Quaker home and training, and by a certain spir-
itual expression, which passing years had increased
AMOKY MISSES A TKAIN 23
rather than lessened. He looked unusual and re-
ceived more than a few lingering glances.
Close at hand stood a black-covered booth, its
sable hangings adorned with silver stars and cres-
cents and bearing above its curtained entrance the
''Have Your Palm Read by the Famous Venetian
Soothsayer, Beatrice, the Last of the D'Estes.'*
Dr. Russell's attention was attracted by a couple
who emerged laughing from this booth, by a girl
who came out looking startled and awestruck and
by an old lady who passed him saying to her com-
panion, "My dear, she told me things nobody
knows but myself ! "
Obeying another abrupt impulse, he lifted the
curtain and entered the booth, to find himself pre-
ceded by a boy and girl both about twenty.
The girl was slender, dark, and dressed in a
frock of a peculiar shade of blue, cut to leave bare
her throat and arms. The black evening coat of
her companion accentuated the high lights of her
The interior of the cabinet, also draped in black,
was unrelieved by silver ornaments. Under the
single drop-light stood a small table, holding a red
velvet cushion. Behind the table sat a figure in
24 JOUKNEY'S END
costume and head-dress to resemble the famous
painting of the D'Este princess.
Upon the cushion the girl laid a pair of athletic-
looking hands, and the palmist was tracing one line
after another with a little ivory rod. No one spoke,
and only the hum of the crowd outside penetrated
" You have had a happy life," said the palmist at
length. "Friends, health, prosperity, have all
come your way. You are intelligent and up to this
time have been fortunate, though you have permit-
ted opportunity more than once to knock unheeded
at your door. You are fond of books and of flowers,
and of venturesome sports ; your intentions are usu-
ally good and you are at present living a life that
will not satisfy you for long, — does not really sat-
isfy you now. You have qualities which your pres-
ent surroundings do not encourage. You have
naturally an affectionate, loyal disposition ; you are
a good friend and a pugnacious enemy. You are
quick to anger, but you are as often angry at your-
self as at others, and you are very generous. You
will not easily love a man enough to marry him;
you prefer to have a good time as a girl, but if you
chance to meet the man who is capable of awaken-
ing your higher nature, you have great possibilities
" But am I going to meet him? " asked the girl,
AMORY MISSES A TEAIN 25
half laughing. Her voice, as Amory noticed, was
clear and low.
" I am no prophetess," said the palmist. " I see
only what is written. You will marry somebody in
the end, but whether the right person, I cannot say.
And ' when Love comes to call thee, arise and follow
The palmist spoke the last sentence in a tone that
seemed absorbed. Suddenly she looked up at the
girl's face, looked quickly and searchingly. To
Amory in the shadow, listening half in amusement,
the expression of her eyes was distinct, but the girl
and her escort remained unaware of the glance.
Their eyes were intent on the ivory rod.
" You will have a trying road to travel," con-
tinued the soothsayer after a moment, and in an
ordinary tone. "You are courageous by nature
and you will need courage, for I cannot interpret
the sign-posts of that path."
" For goodness' sake, do be more explicit," said
" That I cannot be, simply because the disaster
which seems to threaten you, while real, is veiled.
There is one influence in your life, and that a strong
one, which is in your favor. I believe that it comes
from a woman. But in a short time you will have
a rocky path to travel, and I can only warn you to
take each step with care."
26 JOUKNEY'S END
There was a note of finality in ker voice as she
turned to the boy upon whose palms she read only
an ordinary prosperous future.
" No rocky road to Dublin for me, Eve," he said,
as they rose to leave, and for the first time became
aware of Amory in the shadowy background. The
girl scarcely glanced at him, thinking he had just
entered ; the boy, with quicker intuition or less self-
absorption, suspected that he had overheard and
gave him an impertinent stare.
As the curtain dropped behind them, Amory, see-
ing that it was expected, took one of the vacated
chairs and laid his hands, palm upward, on the
As before, there was a pause while the ivory rod
traced several lines.
"Your hands are those which heal," said the
palmist thoughtfully, " gentle hands which help the
pain of the world; strong, too, in that they are
Amory smiled inwardly. Could any trace of
iodoform linger about him? Hardly possible, since
he was but four days off the Cunard liner and had
not been near a hospital for two weeks. The slen-
der rod continued its slow movement.
"^When the toiler in brain and the healer of
pain shall be classed with the men who pray,'"
murmured the palmist in an abstracted manner.
AMORY MISSES A TRAIN 27
Suddenly the little rod stopped short, its pointed
end pricking Amory's palm. The D'Este princess
looked hini straight in the face. " Did you know
that girl who just went out?" she demanded
" I never saw her before. I am a stranger
here. I doubt if I should recognize her again.
" This is the strangest thing that has happened
yet," said the palmist, laying down her pointer and
propping her chin in both liands.
" Why did I ask whether you knew her? Because
the lines of your hand indicate that in the imme-
diate future your life will be involved in the iden-
tical disaster that threatens hers."
"But that, you know, is nonsense," said Amory
"Nothing is nonsense," sighed the palmist.
" Everything has a meaning, if we have intelligence
enough to read it. And half the time we are need-
lessly deaf and blind to things that are clamoring
to be understood."
" But you don't really believe this yourself, do
you? " asked Amory in the same persuasive man-
" I don't know what I believe nor whether I be-
lieve anything. Every time I am persuaded into
doing this, I regret yielding. I seem to possess
28 JOUENEY'S END
some queer gift, perhaps a mere trick of receiving
impressions from other minds, perhaps a real
power. All I can tell you is that I do not con-
sciously deceive people and that I am startled again
and again by the fulfilment of what I have read in
" Can you tell me the nature of this threatened
danger? " inquired Amory after a moment during
which the palmist seemed wrapped in thought.
" That is just the trouble," she replied, picking
up the little rod again. '^ I see the disaster, which
may or may not be averted, but I can tell you no
more than I could tell that girl. I can only give a
very trite piece of advice; think twice, yes, three
times, before you take any important step in life,
and ask advice, not only of your heart, but of your
intellect as well."
As the palmist spoke, the curtain of the booth
was again lifted to admit a group of merry young
" Shall I finish? " she went on. " I can tell you
your faults and your virtues, if you care to have
" With the first I am unfortunately only too well
acquainted, and the second do not flourish in lime-
light. I thank you."
Amory laid a bill upon the cushion and left the
booth. Once again in the hall, he wandered in and
AMORY MISSES A TRAIN 29
out among the crowd, looking for the girl in blue,
but without result. He went away just in time to
catch his train, still trying to fix in his mind a pic-
ture of her face. He had seen it only indistinctly,
in half light, and though he retained a general im-
pression of dark hair and shadowy eyes, all details
IN WHICH AMORY ARRIVES IN FREEPORT
AMORY had sent no word to Freeport of his
intended arrival, for he very well knew that
any hour he might choose to appear would
find him welcome. At two the next day, he was
traversing the wide, elm-shaded main street of the
little town by the sea, the sole passenger in a ram-
shackle taxi which awaited the arrival of the train
at the sleepy station. There, no one had known
him, for the station-master was new and the hour
not one at which many people were abroad.
Reaching Journey's End, he dismissed the cheer-
ful, slangy youth who guided the eccentric ca-
reer of the broken-down Ford, and opened the gate
upon the brick walk leading straight to the front
entrance. Built in the days of the sea-trading Rus-
sells, the house was a fine example of colonial archi-
tecture, with a pillared porch ornamented by a
beautiful fan-light window, the panes of which
gleamed faintly purple. Beds of old-fashioned
flowers bordered the walk.
AMORY AERIYES IN FREEPORT 31
Amory carried a latch-key. He had always kept
it on his ring during every absence from home, and
sometimes in the years just past he had singled it
from the rest of the bunch to look at it for a mo-
ment. No matter how far he might wander, that
bit of metal stood for home and all that home meant
to him. The screen-door yielded to his touch, and
with keen pleasure and anticipation he opened the
finely-paneled door and entered the wide hall.
It stretched straight to the garden door at the
back of the house, and that stood open, giving
glimpses of blossoming shrubs, more beds of flow-
ers, and at the foot of the lawn, the blue waters of
the harbor. In that one brief pause, Amory saw a
white-sailed yacht slipping across the space within
More than once, in the dark watches of some
night, on duty in a hospital ward, Amory had an-
ticipated that moment and seen in his mind's eye,
that peaceful, sunny scene. Now it seemed scarcely
real. The house was absolutely still. After all,
the only noise it ever knew was what he and Caro-
Where was Aunt Eunice? She might be sitting
on the bricked terrace ujwn which the garden-door
opened, and Amory walked softly down the long
hall, only to find the terrace deserted. He looked
into the east parlor and the west sitting-room,
82 JOUKNEY'S END
with a growing sense of welcome as eacli room, un-
changed in its calm order, greeted his eyes.
^'Amory Eussell, is it really thyself? " exclaimed
a voice behind him, and Lydia came down the beau-
tiful curving staircase.
" Keally myself, Lydia," laughed Amory, seizing
the old servant in both strong arms. "And thee
has come just in time to stop my stealing thy
" Fie, Amory," said Lydia, kissing him affection-
ately. " Is thee the same mischievous boy as ever?
Ah, but thee has grown in stature and in manliness,
No, thee is not the same Amory."
" Just the same for the people who love me," said
Amory with another hug. "Where is my Aunt
" Eunice Russell sleeps," said Lydia, smoothing
her hair rufled by his embrace. " Thee had better
not waken her. Since Robert died, she has been
frail and has need of more rest and of withdrawal
from the tumult of the world. She will not sleep
much longer. Has thee had any luncheon? "
"No, Lydia. I should have been here an hour
ago, but the train was late."
" Go up to thy room, then, Amory, and tidy thy-
self. Thee will find all in readiness for thy home-
coming. A dozen times a day Eunice Russell hath
overlooked that room, lest something for thy com-
AMOKY AEKIYES IN FEEEPOET 33
fort be omitted. By the time thee has washed from
thee the dust of thy journey I will have luncheon
Lydia disappeared into the kitchen, and Amory,
with a smile, turned to the stairs. The years were
dropping from him like autumn leaves before the
wind ; he was only a boy again, sent up to wash his
hands and tidy himself for supper.
The old grandfather clock stood on the landing
of the curving stair, the silver moon on its face
telling absolute falsehoods about the real moon's
movements, but with its slow, solemn tick empha-
sizing the stillness of the great house. How many
thousand times it had ticked since Amory last
climbed those stairs !
From mere force of habit he stopped to look at
the picture hanging beside the clock, a picture that
had always held his fascinated attention. It was
only an old painting of a full-rigged ship, all sails
set and a fair wind blowing, a small ship, with a
high free-board and a line of square ports set in a
belt of white paint. Below ran the legend : " Ship
Iris, Amory Eussell, Master, leaving Shanghai for
Freeport, July 10, 1801." More than a century
after the ship Iris started on that voyage, the fourth
Amory Eussell spent long moments in contempla-
tion of her painted image.
Amory's large room lay at the back of Journey's
34 JOUKNEY'S END
End, overlooking tlie garden and a harbor full of
dancing white-caps on this day of stiff west breeze.
Its four windows all framed beautiful views, but it
was to the room itself that Amory turned after his
first glance at the sea. Yes, it was unchanged.
The same fine India matting covered the floor, the
same India drugget concealed the sjmt where he
had upset the ink. What a lecture Lydia had read
him upon his carelessness !
Spotless muslin draperies framed each tall win-
dow, their ruffles quivering in the soft air that
drifted in. The four-posted mahogany bed was an
expanse of snowy white, the big mahogany dresser
and bureau still bore treasures dear to his boyhood,
his desk had been freshly stocked with paper and
blotters, the bookcase was as he had left it, crammed
with favorite volumes. His glass-fronted case of
curiosities was as before; the wide fireplace wore
its summer dress of feathery asparagus, jeweled by
bright red berries. The door into the dressing-
room stood ajar and here a wealth of towels and
soap surrounded the marble bath and basin, real
marble this, no imitation porcelain.
His tennis racquet, his college photographs were
all in place, his fencing foils and mask, — nothing,
nothing was changed ! Only, upon a white-draped
table by the bed stood a big bowl of roses and beside
them lay a Bible.
AMOKY ARRIVES IN FREEPORT 35
As compared with other young men, Amory's life
had been blameless. A certain innate fastidious-
ness kept him from being tempted by the grosser
forms of indulgence, yet he was not ignorant of
evil. The peace of that house, of that room, fell
upon him like a cleansing, healing bath. Over his
desk hung a framed motto, which Amory knew by
heart, though he had not thought of it for years.
Long ago. Aunt Eunice placed it there, and he
stopped to read it afresh.
'* *If the weak and the foolish bind thee,
I cannot unlock thy chain ;
If sin and the senses blind thee,
Thyself must endure the pain.
If the arrows of conscience find thee,
Thou must conquer thy peace again.' "
That had been the key-note of his whole boyhood,
of his whole training, — ^the absolute, utter responsi-
bility of the individual for himself. It was the core
of the Quaker belief, that all are equal in the sight
of God, and none can mediate nor interpret for an-
other. To each his own searchings of the soul, his
own communion with the Spirit, his ovm quest for
the Inner Light. And in such belief and such prac-
tice do men grow in grace.
Since Charles Russell had " married out of meet-
ing," his children were not Friends by birth. Caro-
36 JOURNEY'S END
line, indeed, had been brought up by her grand-
mother as an Episcopalian, but Amory, though he
had never made profession of his Quaker faith,
did believe strongly in this principle of personal
responsibility. Self-reliance and self-control had
been trained into him by Robert and Eunice Russell.
He had grown up at Journey's End in an atmos-
phere of serene calm, in an order that seemed
changeless, in a home that never knew an angry or
an uplifted voice. Compassed about by such gra-
cious peace, he had not been without experiences of
Having finished this survey of his room, Amory
took a bath and changed his clothing completely.
Nothing short of absolute bodily cleanliness fitted
a return to Journey's End, and with a smile of
amusement, he picked up the wet towels and re-
stored order to the bathroom. More than once
Lydia had sent him up to perform this duty, and he
was not at all sure she would not do it again. No,
in this house, he was surely not Dr. Russell, who
had to his credit two years of successful work and
before him a future which his superior officers
seemed to consider brilliant, — he was only Amory,
who was to wash his hands and make himself tidy.
He found the table laid on the brick terrace
where the sunlight fell through pergola vines.
Lydia waited on him with affectionate solicitude,
AMORY AERIYES IN FREEPORT 3T
enjoying the little old familiar jokes and allusions,
and also Ms unaffected appetite for her delicious
home cooking. Just as he finished the clock struck
" If thee wishes, Amory," suggested Lydia, *' thee
may go up-stairs and sit by Eunice Russell until
she wakes. To open her eyes upon thy face will be
for her a joyful moment."
The door into the big front chamber moved noise-
lessly as Amory entered. Side by side stood the
twin mahogany beds with their carved posts and
netted testers. Across the foot of the farther one
was drawn a bamboo couch, and there Amory found
his aunt, wrapped yet in quiet slumber. Very
softly he drew a low stool to her side and seated
himself, looking earnestly into the peaceful face of
Eunice Russell had never worn the white cap of
the older Friends ; her soft waving hair was merely
parted and drawn back on either side of a face,
which, naturally pleasing in contour, had gained
ineffable charm from the beauty of Eunice's inner
The tears came to Amory's eyes as he realized
that the years had left their traces upon even that
serene countenance. The soft hair had whitened,
and there was about the whole slight figure an air
of fragility which went to Amory's heart and some-
38 JOUKNEY'S END
what alarmed him as a physician. His Aunt Eunice
was very dear to Amory.
Still she did not wake, and he sat in silence, his
mind busy with many memories. For the first time
there came home to him a full realization of what it
had been to her to lose her husband, and an appre-
ciation of the loss to him personally. He was on
the ocean when Uncle Robert died, and the news did
not reach him for many weeks. He had loved his
uncle, but at the time, the shock was dulled for
him by the strenuous work in which he was en-
gulfed. He literally had no time for grief.
Aunt Eunice's orderly big room, too, was un-
changed ; unaltered its fine old furniture and beau-
tiful proportions. The wing-chair yet stood by the
side window, where a well-worn Bible lay upon the
white-draped table. Through half-closed inner
shutters subdued light fell, and sweet odors crept
from the climbing honeysuckle over the front
porch. Somehow it seemed as though Uncle Rob-
ert must shortly enter.
He had been a tall man, though never heavy, with
a finely-shaped head, thick white hair, and a benev-
olent face, a man whose word was as good as a
written agreement, whose kindly heart never judged
severely his fellow-beings. Yet he was a man who
dealt sternly with himself and who could not brook
dishonesty in others.
AMOEY AERIYES IN FREEPORT 39
Through. Amory's mind flitted recollections of
the stories Uncle Robert used to tell hini. Jour-
ney's End was full of curiosities, beautiful rare
things from India and China, trophies of many a
past sea voyage, by many a vanished Russell.
Every one had a story, and as a child, Amory never
tired of hearing about them. It was a regular part
of every winter evening, when his lessons were
learned, that he should choose some new object of
which to hear the story. His mind had been a won-
derful jumble of old Cathay and pirate ships, of
temples and heathen people in distant lands. There
was only one ornament in the house of which Uncle
Robert never told him the story, and that was the
carved ivory dragon occupying the mantel of the
east parlor. For some reason his uncle was per-
sistently silent concerning that dragon, and after
one or two attempts to learn where it came from,
Amory had taken the hint and permitted it to re-
main in oblivion.
Robert Russell had loved his brilliant, wayward
younger brother with an affection that had in it
something of the paternal. Charles's wildest esca-
pades never really exhausted the patience of the
grave, dignified Robert, and it was inevitable that
he should love Charles's son. Having lost two chil-
dren in early infancy, both he and Eunice looked
upon Amory as compensation for early sorrow.
40 JOUKNEY'S END
And as Amory grew older, there sprang up between
him and his Uncle Eobert an affectionate compre-
hension that worked for true companionship, a mu-
tual understanding that wrought good on both
sides. Amory had never openly disobeyed his Uncle
Eobert ; he was not a man whom a boy did disobey,
but his obedience was not that of fear. His uncle
thoroughly understood Amory, and, though firm,
was invariably gentle. Amory grew to young man-
hood trusting and respecting his uncle and taking
very seriously any reproof from him.
During his sophomore year at college he incurred
one which he never forgot. Due to a series of
thoughtless imprudences, he found himself involved
in debt and in increasing difficulties. After consid-
erable thought, he confessed his predicament in a
letter to his uncle.
That letter gave Robert Russell keen distress, for
he had watched so anxiously for any tendencies of
Charles to crop out in Charles's son, tried so con-
scientiously to direct Amory in paths of prudence.
He answered the letter in person, took one keen
look at his nephew, and then, without a change in
his usual kindly, grave manner, asked to see the
bills. Having examined them, absolutely without
comment, he drew his check-book from his pocket
and made out a check for the exact amount in-
AMOKY AREIYES IN FKEEPOKT 41
" I should like thee to send me those receipted
bills, Amory," he said quietly as he passed the
check across the table, and then, seeing the mortifi-
cation and shame written on the sensitive young
face before him, he relented. " Perhaps thee does
not deserve that, Amory," he added. " Thee may
let thy own conscience judge thee. Send the re-
ceipts or not, as it decrees. And if thee is truly
penitent, thee will keep within thy allowance for
the coming term."
Amory had not exceeded the allotted sum, indeed,
a very liberal amount, and he had disciplined him-
self by sending the receipted bills to his uncle.
He remembered, too, Uncle Eobert's great gen-
erosity in financial matters. Every quarter, acting
as trustee of his brother's estate, Robert sent to
Mrs. Payne the proper dividends for Caroline's ex-
penses and education, and at her marriage had ren-
dered her share of her father's property, with ac-
counts and vouchers accurate to a cent.
But on Amory's twenty-first birthday, the family
lawyer presented him with a statement of the
moneys due him from his inheritance, a sum, to
Amory's astonishment, greatly increased since his
father's death by Robert's careful management, and
without a single charge against it, neither for main-
tenance, nor for clothing, — not even for education.
" Thee has been my son, Amory, in everything
42 JOUENEY'S END
except actual paternity," was Eobert's sole com-
ment to his surprised certainty of a mistake. " I
trust thee will not begrudge me a father's privi-
Aunt Eunice was waking. The fine white ker-
chief crossed upon her bosom rose and fell with less
regularity, her lids lifted and for a second she lay
staring in blank incredulity into Amory's eyes.
^^Is it thee, Amory? " she gasped at last.
Amory slid to his knees beside the couch, put
both arms about the slight figure and laid his cheek
against hers. Out on the stairs the tall clock
ticked moment after moment into eternity while
neither moved nor spoke.
IN WHICH AMORY MEETS TWO GIRLS AND RESCUES A
LADY FROM PERIL
*'T SHOULD teU thee, Amory," said Mrs. Rus-
I sell, as lier nephew bade her good-night,
" that to-morrow, being First Day, Friends
will meet here. What with the high price of coal
and the lessening number at meeting and the emer-
gencies of the war, we have not tried to heat the
meeting-house for over two years. And now,
though the weather would permit its use, the cus-
tom continues that the few of us who are left should
gather at Journey's End. Thee will understand
that I would be wiser not to break my custom of
remaining in my room until the hour for meeting?
I am unpleasantly reminded in these days that I
cannot endure so much fatigue as in the past."
"And I have talked to thee all the afternoon and
evening of such distracting and exciting things.
Aunt Eunice," said Amory, as they stood under the
shaded light in the upper hall. "I have jerked
thee from one end of Paris to the other, and told
thee a hundred different tales that may distress
thee. Why did thee not bid me hold my tongue? "
44 JOUKNEY'S END
" Thee can tell me nothing that I do not care to
hear and thee has not disturbed me in the least.
The joy of thy arrival has added greatly to my
peace. My rest will be untroubled and I trust that
thine may be the same. Sleep as late as thee likes,
Amory. Whenever thee is ready, Lydia will give
thee breakfast. Friends will meet at half-past
She kissed him and went to her room, while
Amory turned down-stairs and into the garden.
He wanted to smoke, but didn't like to do so, even
in his own room, until he knew that it would not
distress his aunt.
"Will thee fasten the garden door when thee
comes in? " asked Lydia, on her way to bed.
" I will," said Amory. "And thee need leave no
light for me, Lydia. The moon is enough."
Amory went out into the lovely old-fashioned
garden, down to the sea-wall, at the base of which
lay a shingly beach, now bared by the low tide.
The lawn and garden of Journey's End covered an
area as large as two ordinary lots, but deeper than
wide. To the north, cut off by a ten-foot brick
wall, another big colonial house stood in corre-
sponding grounds. It had long been occupied by
the Fiskes, but in Amory's boyhood only Admiral
and Mrs. Fiske were left after the marriage of
their children, to make what use they could of the
AMOKY MEETS TWO GIRLS 45
tremendous old place. The house looked open, for
several windows showed lights and the sound of
lively music floated through the quiet air.
" It seems to me Aunt Eunice wrote that the
Fiske place was sold," thought Amory. " I must
ask her about it in the morning."
He finished his cigarette by the sea-wall and then
realized that he was both tired and sleepy. Per-
haps it would be better to go to bed. He wished
that Caroline had come with him ; she looked any-
thing but well or happy. Carol was right about
Journey's End ; there was something about the old
place different from others, something that envel-
oped one in an atmosphere of its own. It was not
wholly because it was home, for it had not been that
to Caroline, and yet she had realized the difference.
The snorting of a motor-car before the next house
distracted the current of Amory's thoughts, gay
young voices called back and forth for a moment,
and then the car rolled away, while some one en-
tered the Fiske house and banged the door. Amory
went into Journey's End and up to his room.
He slept as only one can sleep who comes back to
the place in the world given him to love above all
others, the place that is home to him, to the dear
familiar things of life, the accustomed surround-
ings of every-day existence. Yet it was not late
when he rose, and only half -past nine when he had
46 JOUENEY'S END
breakfasted upon the terrace and again sauntered
into the garden.
"Will thee attend meeting, Amory?'' asked
Lydia, coming to the garden door.
"Certainly. Where will it be, — ^in the east
" The west sitting-room," said Lydia.
" The other room is larger," observed Amory,
drawing his cigarette case from his pocket and de-
liberately watching for its effect upon Lydia.
" That is true," Lydia agreed, " but since Kobert
died, Eunice seldom uses the east parlor. She
seems to have taken a dislike to it. I have noted
that she never sits there for more than a few mo-
ments at a time. Amory Russell, thee has too fine
a mouth to disfigure with that cigarette ! "
" How does thee know what it is? " asked Amory
"I am not ignorant of the evil customs of the
world, though I have lived in Journey's End for
forty years," replied Lydia with as much of a sniff
as her principles permitted. "Well, if thee does
nothing worse than smoke, I suppose both Jour-
ney's End and I can endure and survive."
" Tell me, Lydia," said Amory coaxingly, " will
it shock Aunt Eunice? "
" It will shock her much more to have thee con-
ceal it from her. No, if thee must smoke, Amory,
AMOKY MEETS TWO GIKLS 47
do it openly. Eunice RusseD does not judge others
harshly, least of all thyself. Times have changed,
and those who are past all desire for change them-
selves do not always yearn to cramp the younger
lives about them. Thy happiness is Eunice's first
earthly concern, and if a roll of tobacco and a
match are essential to it, she will make allowances
for thy weakness."
Amory laughed outright. " Lydia, Lydia, I have
known thee in past years to make allowances thy-
self for my shortcomings, — indeed, to connive at
concealing them. In the bottom of thy heart, thee
is not only tolerating this cigarette, but enjoying
its odor ! "
" If thee is going into the garden, Amory, thee
may as well make thyself useful by cutting some
roses," said Lydia, grimly enough, but with a smile
curving her lips as she turned to fetch him the
basket and shears.
"The garden does not look so well as Eunice
wishes," she added. " John Duane still toils in it,
but he needs direction, and Eunice has not felt
strong to work as she used to do. And now it
seems that every season brings a fresh pest in the
form of a new bug or worm. We feel quite an
affection for the old-fashioned tent-caterpillars."
" Thee doesn't think Aunt Eunice is ill, does thee,
Lydia? She is thin and fragile and I do not like
48 JOUKNEY'S END
Iter transparent look. Of course, slie has not re-
covered from the shock of Uncle Eobert's death, but
does thee think anything is wrong? "
" Eunice Kussell is not ill,, but anxiety for thee has
somewhat affected her strength, and there are times
when it seems as though the unrest of the world has
penetrated even the walls of Journey's End. It is
diffi-cult to rise above the disorder and to keep a
serene mind. Last week when I was cleaning the
east parlor it seemed as though an evil spirit had
entered into me. But I recalled that I had godly
parents and a spiritual upbringing, and I concluded
that it must be the weather."
Amory smiled again as he strolled down the cen-
tral brick walk. The roses were in their prime,
and on either side bent inviting, fragrant heads for
his choice. They were all old favorites. Jacque-
minot, George Washington, Seven Sisters, cinna-
mon, and tiny yellow single Scotch ones, with here
and there a sweetbriar.
With real enjoyment Amory made his selection
and filled his basket and then wandered around,
examining the flowers with care. The garden had
been a great pleasure to both his uncle and aunt,
and was still well-kept and trim.
Down the length of the high wall dividing the
grounds from those of the Fiske place ran a long,
straight path, bordered by lilacs and other tall.
AMOEY MEETS TWO GIKLS 49
flowering shrubs. The lilacs were past now, but
the Japanese cherries and crabs were in full beauty,
and Amory, catching a glimpse of their pink blos-
soms from the central walk, turned the corner for a
nearer view. He was startled to come suddenly
upon a girl.
She stood looking at a rose-breasted grosbeak
singing on the flowering thorn-tree. She was
dressed in white and her head, crowned with heavy
blue-black hair, was tilted upward, showing the
long line of her slender young throat. In one hand
she clasped a gardening instrument known to
Amory's youth as a "clawer"; the other held a
At this unexpected apparition, Amory stepped
back and at the same instant the girl looked at
It was a curious look, steady and rather as
though she were questioning him. Her eyes, as he
saw at once, were suited to her hair, in color uncer-
tain, but dusky with smouldering lights.
"Don't step on those baby larks," she ordered
Amory turned on the flat heel of his canvas shoe,
looking behind him, under the impression that he
had inadvertently trod on a bird's nest. Nothing
showed but some small green plants.
" The baby what? " he asked, bewildered.
60 JOUENEY'S END
" The little larkspurs/' said the girl less impetu-
ously. " They have just been transplanted/'
" Oh," said Amory. " I thought they were
"Weeds don't grow in rows," said his compan-
ion, giving him another searching glance. "All
these things down here are seedlings. These are
pansies, and these are phlox and that is cosmos.
That cosmos ought to be transplanted. Yes, and
these are marigolds. That, by the way," she added
with a wave of the clawer and with a charming im-
pudence, " is a lilac."
" Yes," said Amory. " I am acquainted with the
lilacs. When I was a naughty little boy, my aunt
used to send me to get a switch from one of
The girl laughed, her face lighting up in the most
engaging manner. "That dear Quaker saint?"
she asked. " Yes, if she thought it was her duty,
she would do it, no matter how she hated it."
"Aunt Eunice never let her affection for me inter-
fere with her sense of duty," agreed Amory, smil-
" She is the sweetest thing that walks this earth,"
said the girl thoughtfully. "Then you must be
Dr. Eussell? "
"Yes," said Amory courteously. "And I sup-
pose I ought to know you, but in the years I have
AMORY MEETS TWO GIRLS 51
been away the Freeport girls have grown past rec-
" No/' said his companion, " you have no reason
to know me. I'm merely nurse-maid to this bed of
seedlings. Good-morning," she added, and started
to pass him on the walk.
"Won't you let me share these roses?'' asked
Amory, indicating the basket he had placed on the
stone seat at the corner of the lilac path. It had
once graced the garden of some old Italian villa.
On either end sat straight a formal little lion.
" Thank you," said the girl, hesitating slightly.
" I will take three or four. No, I want only red
" That dear aunt of yours," she added as Amory
dropped the pink flowers, "is an angel let loose
from heaven. I wonder "
"Wonder what?" asked Amory, selecting a
handful of Jacks. He was entirely unaware of the
sympathetic tone that had crept into his voice.
" If you No, of course it is impossible.
Nothing, Dr. Russell. Pardon my intrusion into
the garden. I did not know you were at home."
"It is no intrusion from a friend of Aunt Eu-
nice," Amory began, but the girl had reached the
sea-wall. On the top step she turned abruptly and
an expression of absolute impishness lighted her
dark face. She looked the very incarnation of mis-
62 JOUKNEY'S END
chief as slie stood with slender, boyish figure sil-
houetted in white against the blue harbor.
"When Aunt Eunice sees that cigarette," she
remarked, indicating the one Amory still held in his
fingers, "she may send you for another switch,"
and vanished with her words.
Amory stared for a second and then, laughing
heartily, approached the sea-wall. The beach be-
low lay empty in either direction.
" Where did she go? " he thought. " What a pic-
ture she made ! And who can she be? There was
surely something familiar about her face, and yet
she said I did not know her. Could I have run
across her in France? She might have been doing
Red Cross work."
Amory pondered this problem, oblivious of pass-
ing time, till Lydia came to where he stood by the
" It is after ten, Amory. Give me the roses that
I may put them in place."
As Amory entered the hall, Mrs. Russell was just
coming down. Stopping on the last stair, she
waited for him to come to her, and, placing a hand
on either shoulder, kissed him twice.
" I hope thee has rested well, Amory, and that
home seems sweet to thee. Sarah and Henry Swain
are this moment coming up the walk. Will thee
stay with me here in the hall and greet the Friends
AMORY MEETS TWO GIRLS 63
as they come? Thee looks cool and comfortable,"
she added with a glance at the spotless flannels her
nephew had thought appropriate to the summer
For fifteen minutes Amory stood in the hall greet-
ing one acquaintance after another, — Friends in
orthodox Quaker costume, others in ordinary dress,
their heritage indicated by serene faces and calm
manners. The unaffected pleasure at seeing him
again, the cordial hand-clasps, the gentle comments
touched Amory rather deeply. " I am glad to see
thee, Amory." " This is a joyful day for thy Aunt
Eunice." " Thee does not know how thankful we
are to see thee return in safety," — one after another
came the words of welcome, as each passed into the
" We will go in now, Amory," said his aunt when
some twenty people had assembled. " No more may
come and the clock is at the moment."
Amory glanced into the room, saw that there was
no division of men and women, as was the case in
the meeting-house, and looked for the opportunity
to sit beside his aunt. But as he followed her he
saw that there would be no chance for this. Eunice
Russell seated herself by Hannah Ames. The only
seats now unoccupied were beyond the big fire-
place which jutted into the room so far as to form
deep recesses on either side, where long French
64 JOUKNEY'S END
windows opened upon the terrace. Amory crossed
to a low tapestry-covered sofa, its back against
the side of this recess. Nearest sat Sarah
Swain at the corner of the fireplace, but since she
faced the room, Amory was almost directly behind
Deep silence fell upon the group. They sat in
relaxed attitudes, some with eyes closed, the rest
with gaze bent on the floor. Amory, too, though
his seat commanded an entrancing view of the gar-
den, folded his arms and directed his gaze to the
Persian rug at his feet.
Five minutes passed and the silence that seemed
almost tangible was broken by a slight rustle, a
sound of subdued steps. Two slender feet clad in
white canvas shoes passed across the rug under
Amory's eyes, a white dress swept by and some
one took the only vacant chair in the room, directly
opposite Amory's sofa and only four feet away.
The appearance of those shoes surprised Amory
for a moment, though he well knew the daughters,
and more especially the granddaughters of the
Quaker homes of Freeport, to be far from orthodox
in dress. But the saucy white shoes fitted trim feet
and strikingly resembled those worn by the girl
lately encountered in the garden. He deliberately
raised his eyes.
No, this was not the young person wko had
AMORY MEETS TWO GIKLS 66
ordered him off the baby larks, and yet there was
something familiar in this face, too, with its brown
hair under a shady hat, around which twisted a
"What ails me?" Amory asked himself. "I
seem to know every girl I meet. Is it just because
it is so pleasant to see American girls again? "
His opposite neighbor glanced at him in her turn
and for a second Amory looked into a pair of placid
blue eyes, very unlike the dark, stormy ones of the
garden visitor, but it was only for a second, and
both were again looking at the rug.
Outside, the clock on the stairs ticked rhyth-
mically, steadily, and inside the west sitting-room
absolute silence reigned, broken only by an occa-
sional sigh, or the soft shifting of some one's foot.
The very atmosphere was filled with prayer so in-
tense and concentrated that one almost heard the
beating of angel wings. Would the Spirit move
any one to speak?
Eleven long slow strokes from the grandfather
clock and the silence yet unbroken. A sudden
movement of the white shoes opposite caught
Amory's attention and he glanced up. This time
the blue eyes met his squarely and there was in
them a look of combined amusement and consterna-
tion. The girl made a slight gesture.
Following its direction, Amory turned his head
56 JOUKNEY'S END
and into his own eyes flashed the laughter that
never lay far below the surface of his sunny nature.
There sat Sarah Swain, hands clasped in her lap,
head reverently bent, and upon the edge of Sarah
Swain's demure Quaker bonnet, just where its stiff
edge revealed her neck, promenaded a two-inch
caterpillar. Even as Amory looked, it rose on its
reai^ legs, waving its head from side to side, directly
over Sarah's unprotected skin!
For one second Amory experienced a sinful de-
sire to stay his hand, to permit that caterpillar to
continue its career unchecked; even speculated as
to the result on Sarah Swain and upon the as-
sembled meeting. Had he been sixteen instead of
twenty-six, it is to be feared he would have allowed
events to take their course.
With a single motion he swept that caterpillar
from its silken path, so deftly that unsuspicious
Sarah Swain never moved her devout head. Very
quietly he rose to his feet, took three steps to the
long window and threw the insect outside. Then,
dusting his hands with his handkerchief, Amory
sat down, but not without another glance at his
neighbor. The blue eyes were bent demurely on
the rug. !No one else in the room moved or seemed
Again the clock ticked its slow story while Amory
endeavored to recapture the mood that had been
AMORY MEETS TWO GIRLS 57
his before the interruption. This time he sat look-
ing into the garden.
There was a slight stir. Sarah Swain with gr^at
deliberation untied her bonnet and handed it to
Hannah Ames. Then she rose, her head in its cap
of transparent muslin reverently bowed.
At first her words came falteringly, a prayer full
of poetical phrases and allusions, words famiLar
from much searching of the Scriptures and long
hours of inward meditation. Her sweet, quavering
old voice fell softly on the ears of her silent listen-
ers, pet'haps on none more pleasantly than those of
the young man behind her. And when she spoke
of him, not by name, but as the son of the house
returned in safety from a far country, Amory^s
eyes came back from the garden to the rug.
Another period of silence followed Sarah's
prayer. Then Henry Swain turned to Hannah
Ames and offered her his hand. First Day meeting
was at an end.
In the little stir and hum of conversation that
followed, Amory rose and looked at the girl oppo-
site. Her eyes met his with a friendly smile.
" You do not remember me, Amory Russell? " she
asked, extending her hand. " Have you forgotten
one winter day long ago, when some children were
sliding on Long Pond and you took a little girl on
your sled, and then steered into a big frozen snow-
58 JOUENEY'S END
ball and smaslied tlie sled and spilled the riders to
either end of the pond? "
"Why, it is Phebe Ames!" exclaimed Amory,
grasping the outstretched hand. " Indeed, I have
not forgotten that disaster. We arose with bleed-
ing noses and bumped heads and not at all pleased
with each other."
" We were not," Phebe agreed laughingly. " It
is no wonder you did not know me, Amory, for I
have not often visited Grandmother when you were
at home. I came from Providence only yesterday
to stay with her for a time and I have already
shocked her by being tardy for meeting."
" Phebe, how does thee do? " asked Eunice Kus-
sell, coming up with an affectionate greeting.
" Thee has spoken with Amory? I was not sure
you would recall each other. And is thee in Free-
port for the summer? "
" For as long as Grandmother can tolerate me,"
said the smiling Phebe. " She wanted me to come
earlier, but I was delayed because I promised to
help with a Venetian entertainment our church was
giving. Just as soon as it was over, I came flying
to Freeport. Please pardon me, Mrs. Russell, for
being late this morning."
Amory gave the girl a keen look. She came from
Providence; she had been at the carnival. Allow-
ing for evening dress and for the very subdued
AMOKY MEETS TWO GIRLS 59
lights of the booth, — ^yes, this must be the same girl.
Yet her companion had called her Eve. Well, Eve
and Phebe were not dissimilar in sound; his ears
might have betrayed him.
"And that caterpillar," said Phebe, turning
again to Amory as Mrs. Russell's attention was
claimed by Mary Barton. " It is wrong of me, but
I was so tempted not to attract your attention and
to see what would happen if we let it alone."
"You were not alone in temptation," replied
IN WHICH AMORY HEARS A STORY AND MAKES AN
'- A ND now tell me of Caroline," said Mrs.
/-\ Russell after tea on First Day, as slie
seated herself on tlie brick terrace to
watch the shadows lengthen through the garden
and over the harbor. *^I am so glad thee could
have that little visit with her. I have not seen Caro-
line since Robert died. She came to me then, and
was sweet and daughterly, but I did not feel at
ease concerning her. She appeared sad, or per-
haps not exactly sad, but not at peace with her-
" She was thin and looked tired," replied Amory,
who was leaning against one of the pillars of the
stately x)orch. " She was also deep in engagements
of various kinds."
" Her life seems to me ill-planned. She is young
and I believe that the young should be joyous, but
Caroline is old enough to have found out where
true happiness lies. I wish I felt that Jermain is
AMORY HEARS A STORY
tlie man who will develop her character to it'
Amory, looking into the garden, smiled to
self, partly at his knowledge of Carol's environ
ment, partly at his aunt's sweet unworldliness. In
his experience, the present generation concerned
itself very little with the development of character !
" Caroline has lived in such different surround-
ings," went on his aunt, "that she and I do n(\t
look at things from the same view-point. And it
is a constant struggle for any of us to keep the
small things of life small and the large things large.
Whenever Caroline came to Journey's End, I tried
to do my duty by her, but I have taken myself to
task that I did not love her as I loved thee.
"I have sometimes thought," she continued,
"that Caroline yet resents a chastisement that I
once administered during her childhood. I admit
that it was given in haste and even in anger. I
found her heaping coals from the fire upon a rug
in the east parlor, because she had read a fairy-
tale of a wizard who, in that manner, constructed
a magic camel out of a hearth-rug. I was so horri-
fied at what she had done ; at the danger to herself ;
and over how easily she might have destroyed the
house, that I took Caroline to my room and spanked
her with my ivory-backed hair-brush. Does thee
think she can still resent it? "
3ry turned a laughing face to his auntw
Proline spoke most lovingly of thee, Aunt
Eunice. Kesent it? — I am sure she does not."
" At the time, I accused myself with being more
concf rned over the damage to a valuable rug and
with the peril in which she had placed her own
life as well as Journey^s End, than with the per-
nicious effects upon her mind of the tale she had
read. I experienced severe qualms of con-
Amory sat down upon the terrace steps and laid
his head on his aunt's knee, his eyes brimming with
"And has thee experienced no qualms for the
times thee chastised me? "
" Thee needn't try to tease me, Amory. Thee
knows there is no bitterness in thy heart concern-
ing any discipline thee received at my hands. Thee
was never punished except when thee richly de-
served it and never in haste and never in anger.
But I spanked Caroline without stopping for re-
flection and without considering her home-training
and her nature. It is true that when I confessed
my error to Robert, he remarked that he wished I
had done it before and he hoped I would do it again.
And I recall that during the rest of her visit that
summer, Caroline was more mannerly and more
obedient than usual. Amory, thee is deranging my
AMORY HEARS A STORY 63
kerchief. Thee reminds me of the way Elizabeth
flies at me with a sudden kiss."
"Who is Elizabeth, and what right has she to
hug my Aunt Eunice? " demanded Amory.
" Elizabeth Emerson, who lives next door. When
Admiral Fiske died, the place was purchased by
John Emerson of New York. Elizabeth is one of
his daughters. There are two older girls, Dorothy
and Marion, and then comes Elizabeth, who is
twenty-two, and William, who is fourteen. I have
merely met the parents and the older girls, but in
one way and another, I have seen a good deal of
Elizabeth, who interests me greatly. She has been
away on a visit and I do not think she can yet be
at home or she would surely be running in. She
often helps me with my flowers and comes and goes
as she likes in the garden."
" How does she look? " asked Amory. " This
morning when I was cutting roses, I encountered
a young girl in the lilac walk, and for a moment
she made me feel as though I were the stranger,
" It must have been Elizabeth. I did not know
she had returned. She is tall and slender, and very
quick in her motions. Her hair is black, with curi-
ous bluish shadows, and she has dark eyes and a
smooth brown skin."
" Then it was Elizabeth all right enough. Ske
64 JOUENEY'S END
ordered me not to step on some seedlings, and wlien
I asked her name would not tell it, and when I of-
fered her roses, chose red ones. She informed
me that my dear Aunt Eunice was an angel
astray from heaven, and when she took leave of
me, her face wore a positively heathenish expres-
"That is Elizabeth," sighed his aunt. "The
child has many moods and some of them are
strange. Elizabeth runs over to show me her dainty
frocks and pretty slippers, and I enjoy seeing them
and hearing of her parties and good times. And
yet she often uses most peculiar language and
her manner lacks the distinctive repose which char-
acterizes a lady. The present generation of young
girls astonishes me, and yet I cannot help loving
their grace and youth. I have grown fond of Eliza-
beth, though I do not wholly approve of her. She
is sweet at heart and has in her the making of a
noble woman, but her home environment and her
companions are not what I could wish for a girl
of such temperament. I try to be tolerant toward
this changing world but there are times when I find
it difficult to reconcile my conscience to the effort
necessary. Let me tell thee of an experience which
I had with Elizabeth and see whether thee thinks
me illiberal in my dealings with her.
" She came to me one day," Mrs. Russell went
AMOEY HEAKS A STOEY 65
on, ^^ straiglit from a motor-ride and dance, and it
was borne in upon me that I owed a duty to Eliza-
beth. Her dress was composed of a scant three
yards of material, — ^there could not have been more.
It was immodest and even its color was not respect-
able. Laugh if thee likes, — I do not mind, but it
will do thee no harm to hear this tale of Eliza-
" She had in her ears pendants two inches long,
and her face was both powdered and painted. Her
hat — ^her hat, Amory, was sinful. It was a wicked
little hat. All this was bad enough, but when she
kissed me, as she did at once, her lips were sullied
Amory, his face buried in his aunt's lap, tried to
keep his shoulders from shaking.
" It came to me that I must do my duty by Eliza-
beth. I told her to take off that hat, and she did so
and threw it from the terrace. I told her to sit
down and to turn her face from me, for I would
not look upon it. She obeyed. Then I spoke the
words that were given me to utter. I told her that
her dress was worse than she could know ; I told her
that it was improper both in cut and color, and that
it would make any well-brought-up youth, like my
Amory, believe her what she was not. I told her
what I thought of her hat and of her stockings, and
that her ears were too dainty to disfigure with those
66 JOUKNEY'S END
great pendants. Elizabeth tore them off and threw
them after the hat.''
" Elizabeth has certainly known her moments
with the lilac switches/' murmured Amory, lifting
a laughing face from its refuge.
" What did thee say, dear? I did not understand
thy allusion? ''
" Thee would not, Aunt Eunice. Go on with thy
story. I find it interesting."
" I told Elizabeth that I would as soon see paint
upon the Kesurrection lilies as on her face, and
that the lips of a young girl should be pure. Then
I was silent, for I had said what was given me to
speak. Elizabeth was silent, too, for a time, and
then she rose, still without a word, and went down
the steps. She took her ear-rings and the bad little
hat. From it fell a pin, which, when I picked it
up later, was no better than it should be. And she
went out of the garden without speaking and with-
out looking back. I was sorry, for I knew from
the droop of her head that she was going to have
an unpleasant time if she listened to her con-
" Don't stop,'' begged Amory, as his aunt relapsed
into silence. " I know there is more to come."
" There is. I was grieved, too, for I cared for
Elizabeth and feared that she might never return,
and yet I could not find it in my heart to regret one
AMORY HEARS A STORY 67
word I had spoken. I had her much in my devo-
tions that night and much in my meditation the
" I did not see her for twenty-four hours, but in
the evening when I sat here as I usually do, to
watch the sunset colors over the harbor and to
think of my boy, I saw Elizabeth coming from the
beach and through the garden as she usually
chooses to come. And even at a distance, I knew
that Elizabeth had held communion with her better
self. She wore a corn-colored frock that was both
charming and modest; she had arranged her hair
in a maidenly fashion, and she had washed the
paint and powder from her face and discarded her
barbaric jewels. She came to me like a penitent
child, and put her head in my lap as thee is doing,
Amory. And presently she told me that she was
not going to paint her face any more and that she
had done with cigarettes."
" And what became of the bad little hat? '' asked
Amory, his voice full of laughter.
" I saw that hat but once again and then at
headquarters where I was helping pack clothing
for the French relief. I did not understand why
Elizabeth chose to send it there, and when I asked,
she said that it might be too rapid for Free-
port, but she did not think it could corrupt
68 JOUKNEY'S END
" Aunt Eunice, thee is too sweet for words ! ''
laughed Amory. " And I suspect thee of a diplo-
matic ruse. Is thee not using the naughty Eliza-
beth as a figurative rod for me? "
" That is not in my thought, Amory. When I
embraced thee this morning I knew thee had been
smoking, but it did not distress nor concern me.
Thee is a man and can judge for thyself. Thee is a
physician and knows whether it will harm thee.
And thee need not retire to the garden unless thee
chooses. I can trust thee not to smoke in any room
where it will be displeasing either to Lydia or to
me. I would not place a barrier in any path thy
conscience permits thee to follow. I try to be lib-
eral and to make full allowance for changing times
and for younger people, but try as I may, I can
never willingly tolerate a cigarette in a girPs
" But I have had searchings of heart concerning
my own bonnet," she went on. "While I have
never worn the orthodox Quaker dress, I have pre-
ferred plain garb and a close bonnet with a white
quilling about my face. Time was when a Freeport
milliner would put in a fresh quilling for seventy-
five cents, but the price increased, for it is no easy
task to arrange that quilling with success.
"Finally the Freeport milliner died and when
the bonnets needed fresh quilling they had to be
AMORr HEARS A STORY 69
sent to Boston. There was no one liere who knew
how to do it. And what with the express each way
and the careful packing required, and the increase
in price of materials and the f ussiness of the work,
it now costs five dollars each time that quilling is
renewed. And I do like to be dainty. Thee is
laughing again, Amory, and now at my bonnet!
But I am seriously considering whether a more
worldly form of head-gear may not in my case prove
less worldly in the end."
"Oh, no. Aunt Eunice," Amory protested quickly.
" Keep thy little bonnet that I love. No matter if
it costs ten dollars instead of five and needs fresh
silk each week. Don't change it."
" Then I will not, Amory ; but, dear, thee is al-
most as lax in thy language as my impetuous Eliza-
beth, and she did not have thy early training. Thee
may love a person and feel affection for an animal,
but thee merely likes an article of dress."
'' That little bonnet I love and I love the lady in
it," persisted Amory, smiling at the reproof. Dur-
ing the short time he had been at Journey's End he
had very carefully edited his vocabulary.
" As thee likes, dear, but it is not correct English.
It pleases me that thee addresses me with the speech
of thy boyhood. I feared that after so long a so-
journ among strangers, it would not return readily
to thy lips."
70 JOUKNEY'S END
" The plain language is natural to me in Journey's
End, Aunt Eunice, and I shall always use it with
thee. And now tell me, thee did not keep the motor
car after Uncle Robert died? "
" I did not. John Howland, who has helped me
with many knotty legal points — I could never have
wrestled with my income taxes but for him — ad-
vised me to sell the car. He said thee would be ab-
sent long and that when thee did return, thee would
prefer a later model. I should use it too seldom to
pay for keeping it and a chauffeur often idle. When
I have wished a car, it has been easy to telephone
to Benjamin Holden's garage. Young Benjamin
comes with a comfortable closed machine and al-
ways drives me himself. And Elizabeth is ever
coaxing me into her car. She drives carefully and
never exceeds the speed I best enjoy, though she did
once tell me that her friends fainted in rows to see
her pass at so slow a pace."
" Bully for Elizabeth ! " said Amory. " I recall
now that thee has spoken of her by name in thy
letters, and of her friendship with thee, but she
had never seemed a real person to me. Thee must
tell her not to keep out of the garden merely be-
cause I am here. It is big enough for us both with-
out danger of our getting in each other's way. And
to-morrow, I will see about ordering a car. I think
a coup^ will be best. Thee can have as much or as
AMOKY HEARS A STORY 71
little air as thee likes, and it will hold three or four
people comfortably if necessary."
" I shall like that, and a small car of that type
will perhaps be equally convenient for thee if thee
decides to go into practice in Freeport. Caroline
wrote me that she thought New York would offer
thy best opportunity. Greatly as I should enjoy
having thee here, Amory, I have lived without thee
for long periods at a time, and thee must not let thy
consideration for me keep thee from a more desir-
able opening. It is much to have an ocean no longer
between us. Were thee in New York, thee could
come to me quickly in case of need."
" It is hard to know what is best to do, Aunt
Eunice. There are reasons why I^d like to stay
in Freeport, but before I fully decide I want to
run down to Johns Hopkins and talk with some of
the staff. If I should conclude to practise here,
how about my office? Does thee know of any suite
in a business block? "
"Why should thee not have it in Journey's
End? " asked his aunt, and the wistful note in her
voice did not escape Amory's observant ear.
" Here are twenty-one rooms."
"Would it not trouble thee to have strangers
coming and going, and some unavoidable con-
" Nothing needful for thy work could be an an-
72 JOUKNEY'S END
noyance. I had thought thee might take the east
front room for thy patients. The room behind
could be thy office, with yet the little den behind
that — thy uncle's special sitting-room. That would
give thee a suite of three apartments, and should
thee need more, I have no liking for the east parlor.
Thee may use that also."
" Whew ! " whistled Amory. " Three rooms is as
much as even the top sawbones of the profession
really needs. I wasn't expecting to start with more
" Thee may have four if thee wishes. And thee
knows there is already a stationary wash-stand in
thy uncle's study. Any other plumbing could be
" Thee is very thoughtful, Aunt Eunice, and very
generous," began her nephew.
" I may have taken thought for thee, but do not
call me generous. Journey's End is thy home,
Amory ; it is at thy disposal. It will be thine when
T join Eobert."
" But there will be other difficulties," said Amory
after a time. " A doctor in the house involves con-
stant attention to the telephone and door-bell, —
that is, if he is the successful chap I hope to be."
"Thee will be successful; it is written in thy
face. And there is a real opening for a physician
in Freeport. In my quiet way I have made in-
AMORY HEAES A STORY 73
quiries and in a town of eight thousand, there are
but two really reputable practitioners. There is
plenty of work for another. And in summer, thee
knows, Freeport becomes quite a resort and its pop-
ulation nearly doubles. Extra servants will be
needed. I have already an excellent negro woman
who comes to assist Lydia except on First Day,
for Lydia is no longer young and the house is large.
I had thought of engaging a maid for thy spec^ial
service, to answer bells and to take messages and to
be generally useful to thee. She would need to be
a superior person, for such duties demand intelli-
gence, but if a sufficient wage is offered, she could
be found. Or perhaps thee would prefer a nurse
as thy assistant. I recall that when I visited Br.
Camp in Boston, he had a trim young woman in
uniform who was most helpful to me in rearranging
my dress. '^
" And what took thee to a doctor's office? " de-
manded her nephew immediately. " Thee wrote
me nothing of that."
" There ! my unlucky tongue has run away with
me," sighed Mrs. Russell. " I was speaking of the
courteous young woman s — "
" Hang the courteous young woman ! Aunt
Eunice, about what did thee consult Dr. Camp?
Come ! I have a right to know."
" Thee has the right and I intended thee to know,
74 JOURNEY'S EKD
only not just yet. I did not want to hamper thy
plans in any way nor to make thee feel — dear, I
seem to be blundering more than ever ! Do not be
disturbed, Amory, and do not loosen thy embrace.
I want to be very close to thee.
" It is only this foolish heart of mine," she added
after a moment. " There is something wrong with
its valves. Last Eleventh month I went to Dr.
Camp and again this past Fifth month. The
trouble has not increased during that time, and
with rest and care it may grow no worse."
" Why didnH thee tell me? " asked Amory after
a long pause. " Why didn't thee? "
" Because I knew thee would come home at once
and that thy work was important. Moreover thee
was coming anyway this month. The danger is
not immediate, dear boy. I have not told Lydia;
I feared her anxiety would react upon me. No one
in Freeport knows except John Howland. Him I
told, for I wished to set my affairs in order. John
has been most kind to me, Amory. He ascertained
that Dr. Camp was considered the best heart spe-
cialist in Boston ; he went first and arranged an ap-
I)ointment for me, and on both my visits insisted
upon personally escorting me. He has shown me
thoughtful attention and we have disagreed but on
one iK)int, — ^he wished to send thee word. I was
obliged to ask his promise that he would not do so
AMOEY HEAKS A STOKY 75
without my permission. And now thee is here, and
I am no worse, and my judgment is justified."
" Except that I might have been with thee these
six months past," said Amory, after a struggle to
control his voice. "To-morrow, will thee let me
examine thy heart? "
" Indeed thee may. I shall feel honored to be
Dr. Eusseirs first Freeport patient. Come, dear
Amory, let us dry our eyes and smile again. Dr.
Camp says I have a good chance to live to a green
old age, and it is my dearest hope to see thee bring
a bride to Journey's End and to hold thy child in
my arms. And for the success of thy career, thee
should marry. Though a physician is bound by his
professional vow to practise his art and to live his
life in righteousness, most men prefer their wives
to consult a married practitioner. In all these
months, has no girl found favor in thy sight? "
"There are no girls so sweet as thee. Aunt
Eunice," said Amory, choking. " Thee has spoiled
me. I compare every girl for whom I feel a momen-
tary attraction with the little Quaker lady of my
love, and the little Quaker lady stays."
" I pray that thee may find her soon, and then
thee must bid my image step aside. And when thee
does speak words of love to a girl, I think thee will
say them convincingly. I only ask that she be pure
in heart, no matter how flippant her exterior. Pu-
76 JOURNEY'S END
rity of heart is compatible with considerable oufc
ward naughtiness, as I have found in the case of my
wilful Elizabeth. And now, dear, forgive my
clumsy blundering, which has saddened thy first
day at home. Thee must not let it influence thy
plans. Since thee is going to Baltimore, I would
advise thee to go before the weather becomes
yet more sultry. A sleeping-car is intolerable in
" I am not going to Baltimore. To-morrow,
Aunt Eunice, after I have satisfied myself about
thy heart, we will go through the east wing together
and plan the changes needed to adapt it to an ofQ.ce.
And then we will telephone the carpenter and the
plumber and the sign-painter that Dr. Russell will
start his medical career in Freeport."
IN WHICH AMORY VISITS JOHN HOWLAND
**T JUST met Amory Eussell on the street and
I a stunning chap he is. Looks the exact image
of his father, except for a dignity more like
his Uncle Robert."
" Has he arrived? " asked John Howland, taking
off his glasses and looking at his partner. " I knew
from Mrs. Russell that he was expected. Came
straight from France? "
" Said he spent three days with Caroline," ex-
plained Richard Vickery, glancing over the letters
he held in his hand. " There'll be some heartaches
among the girls this summer, if I am any judge.
Amory has all his father's personal beauty, to say
nothing of other attractions. Robert and Charles
shared their father's fortune equally ; Robert's chil-
dren both died. Amory will eventually be his
aunt's heir, and you and I know that his grand-
father's property has about doubled since old
Amory's day. It will be interesting to see what
happens now Robert is gone and there's nobody to
hold down the brakes."
78 JOURNEY^S END
"Amory was a nice boy," observed John How-
land, " rather a charming boy, too."
" So was Charles. He could charm the heart out
of a woman just by looking at her. Charles was
about the most attractive young fellow of our gene-
ration, and what a mess he did make of things ! A
runaway marriage, dissipation under the name of
art in Paris, both he and his wife dead in their
twenties, and the Robert Russells with their son to
" Which was the best thing that could possibly
have happened to young Amory. I saw a good deal
of him when he was growing up, — he and my Tom
were friends, you know, — and I always liked Amory.
To my mind, he has shoAvn far more character al-
ready than that unfortunate Charles. Here he was
with all the money he could use, and yet he plugged
away at college, and he did good work in
France. I met one of the head surgeons of the Red
Cross down at Ogunquit the other day. We got to
talking and somehow it came out that one of our
Freeport boys had been in his unit. He spoke very
highly of Amory. I don't believe he'll make ducks
and drakes of the Russell money. After all, he had
a good bringing-up, and Robert Russell put a lot
of himself into that boy. Amory loves his Aunt
Eunice; she will have considerable influence over
AMORY VISITS JOHN ROWLAND 79
'*' It isn't possible for a fellow to be as good-look-
ing as Amory and not have some imperfection,"
commented Mr. Vickery. "We'll see. Now Fm
off for Boston if I can make that train."
" Just tell Miss Morton not to interrupt me un-
less it is important," said his companion.
John Howland, senior member of the legal firm
of Howland and Vickery, did not turn at once to
his work, but sat looking abstractedly from the
window. He was a man over fifty, with iron-gray
hair, and clean-cut features. His father had been
the trusted adviser of three generations of Russells,
and John, growing up in the ofi8.ce, stepped into the
shoes left vacant at his father's death.
"Well" — ^he remarked to himself, "well, — I
wonder, — I wonder."
With this enigmatic observation he turned his
attention to the papers on his desk.
In the outer office, Miss Morton was presently
accosted by a young gentleman she had never seen
before, whose appearance gave her a distinct palpi-
"May I see Mr. Howland?" inquired the vis-
" Mr. Howland is very busy. He left word that
he wasn't to be interrupted. Could I take any mes-
sage to give him later? "
"But I think he will see me," said the young
80 JOUKNEY'S END
man pleasantly. " I seem to be without a card.
Would you mind asking if he can give Amory Eus-
sell a few minutes? "
"Oh," said Miss Morton, who had heard that
name before. " Yes, I'll ask."
Amory looked around the rather barren outer
oflice, not much changed since the days of Henry
Howland. There stood the same uncomfortable
chairs, the same maps hung on the walls, the same
dusty law-books filled the cases.
"Mr. Howland will see you," announced Miss
Morton, but following on the heels of his stenog-
rapher came the lawyer himself.
"Well, well, Amory, it is good to have you
home!" he said cordially and inwardly added:
" Jove ! if he isn't young Charles again, except for a
different expression." " Come in, come in," he
added aloud. " I'd stop any work to bid you wel-
Still clasping the hand of his visitor and patting
his shoulder, he drew him into the inner office, clos-
ing the door upon the astonished Miss Morton, who
was not accustomed to see her staid employer dis-
play any feeling. ,
But Amory understood. "Mr. Howland," he
said at once and with a simple directness that was
very engaging, " I— I can't begin to tell you how
badly I feel about Tom."
AMORY VISITS JOHN HOWLAND 81
Mr. Howland pressed the hand he still held.
"We appreciated your writing, Amory," he said
gruffly. " Tom did his duty and none of us can do
more. I rather envy the young fellows who were
permitted to give their all. Sometimes I don^t know
but it takes more courage to live than to die. Sit
down, my boy, sit down.''
" Thank you," said Amory, laying aside his hat
and taking from his pocket a manila envelope. " I
have something for you, Mr. Howland."
Placing it on the desk, he watched for a second
while the lawyer opened it and then he walked over
to the window. There was a long silence and
then Mr. Howland blew his nose.
" This means a great deal, Amory," he said. " It
is not every one who would have thought of such a
" I tried my best to get photographs of the graves
of all our Freeport boys," said Amory, returning
to the desk and seating himself. " There were eight,
you know. I obtained them for all but one, a Peter
Flynn. I never knew him myself, but when Aunt
Eunice sent me his name, I did my best to locate
him, but I couldn't. His jF?eemed to be one of the
cases where the poor chap was wiped out in a
Mr. Howland again held out his hand. "How
about your hospital experience?" he asked when
82 JOURNEY'S END
they had exchanged a warm grasp. " You had a
good long pull at it, didn't you? "
" Over a year of actual service, and of course for
long after the armistice we were still patching up
the poor fellows."
" It was a remarkable coincidence, your running
across Putnam Avery."
" It was the hardest thing that happened to me,"
replied Amory simply, " and yet afterwards, I waB
thankful it did happen."
"Are you willing to tell me about it?" asked
the lawyer, "or are you like the rest of the
boys, — don't want to talk about your experiences in
the war? "
" Like the others, there are a lot of things I just
want to forget," said Amory, " that is, so far as one
can forget. The war did something terrible to most
of us, something words can't express, but I can
talk about Putnam. My encountering him was a
mere chance. We had been handling cases as fast
as we could for twelve hours. I was just off duty
and making for my tent to snatch some sleep, when
one of the nurses asked me to look at a poor fellow,
who she said was in the ambulance corps, a non-
combatant of course, but wearing the Red Cross,
and so a favorite target. I stepped aside to see if
I could help him and it was Put."
Mr. Howland looked at him sympathetically.
AMOEY VISITS JOHN ROWLAND 83
" That must liave been a shock,'' he observed at
" Except that when a man works day and night
patching up the work of hell, he finally reaches the
point where he can't feel much more. I didn't go
to my tent and I went without the sleep for which
I had started. The dear old chap knew me ; he was
conscious to the last. He was past all help, but
fortunately he didn't suffer ; I was able to prevent
that. We talked of Freeport and of the harbor and
our boat, and he gave me some messages for his
father and mother. Of course I wrote, but I have
yet to see them and to bring them some things that
belonged to Put. Just at dawn he died in my arms."
" That was a great comfort to the Averys," said
the lawyer, breaking the silence that followed.
" After a time, it was to me," said Amory.
" I have wondered how you young fellows with
your Quaker training feel now about the war. Of
course you had been brought up to think it wrong."
" Put and I were both in non-combatant service.
I can tell you how I felt, Mr. Howland. After three
months in the field hospital, I came to the conclusion
that Friends are right in the principle that war is
wrong, but personally, I can no longer stick to that
principle when it is a question of warfare with
" Right you are," said the lawyer briefly.
84 JOUKNEY'S END
" And Jack? " asked Amory. " What is lie do
"I sent him back to finish at college and the
dickens of a time he has been giving me. It seems
as though he got just enough of the war to be
utterly unsettled for any steady work."
" That's the case with half the men," commented
Amory. " It is a nervous reaction. I felt it more
or less myself during the first weeks I stayed on as
interne at St. Etienne's. Mr. Howland, what about
my Aunt Eunice? "
" What has she told you, Amory? "
" She has told me about her heart and of her
visits to the specialist. I wish that you had written
me immediately. I ought to have been told."
" Your Aunt Eunice made me promise not to tell
you. It isn't possible to evade a promise to her. I
argued as best I could, for I was anxious about her
and I thought you should know. It was useless,
for she had made up her mind and was adamant.
I must confess I have been worried these six
months past, for it put me in a difficult position.
If anything happened to her, you would find it hard
to forgive me. I was greatly relieved when her
second visit showed matters no worse."
" She told me you had been extremely kind. I
appreciate very much what you have done for her."
" There isn't a man in Freeport who would not do
AMOKY VISITS JOHE^ HOWLAND 85
anytliiiig in his power for Robert RusselFs widow.
We feel honored by the doing/' said John Howland
" I ought to have been here," said Amory. " I
would have come at once if I had known, but
though she wrote me twice each week, she never said
one word to let me even suspect she was not well.
Of course, when Uncle Robert died, I could not
come, but I got my discharge the April after the
armistice. I need not have stayed for the hospital
practice, only it was such a whacking opportunity
to do work in constructive surgery."
" Since you did not know, I can't see that you
have any reason to blame yourself," said Mr. How-
land. " It was a mighty fine chance for a young
doctor and must have set you ahead a good bit,
given you a start in experience. Are you planning
to specialize? "
" :^^ot yet. I shall not think of that until I have
had several years of general work."
" It's curious," said John Howland. " Mrs. Rus-
sell spoke of this the last time I was with her, and
now I see you, Amory, I am reminded of it. It is
odd how the deft fingers .of your father, — for he
was a clever painter, only he couldn't stick to any-
thing long enough to succeed, — ^have cropped out in
you with another sort of dexterity. Charles Russell
had great ability, but he lacked any incentive to cul-
86 JOUKNEY'S END
tivate it. It interests me that you have studied
" Well, I wanted to do something, and this inter-
ested me. And I think a man who isn't obliged to
scratch gravel for his own living ought to do some-
thing with his life that will help others. Uncle
Robert thought so, too."
Amory saw, without understanding, the curious
expression that crossed the lawyer's face.
" I want to consult you," he went on. " Aunt
Eunice and I have had an argument, and I finally
agreed to her desire that I should ask your opinion.
But I may as well tell you that I have fully made
up my mind and that your opinion won't influence
me unless it chances to coincide with my
" Then if it doesn't, I may as well keep silent,"
said the lawyer dryly. " I believe I can venture a
guess as to the subject of that argument, — where
you are to begin your professional work? "
"Yes," said Amory, looking a little surprised.
" I had a bunch of mail this morning, letters that
have been following me around for a fortnight, and
among them is one from Colonel Fenwick, the com-
manding officer of the unit I served with. He
makes me a tip-top offer to come into his New York
office for a year, with big prospects later. I was
amazed, for I never thought the old bird liked me.
AMORY VISITS JOHN HOWLAND 87
He seldom opened Ms mouth except to give me a
" The same mail brought a letter from another
man I met in Paris, who is head of that big new
hospital in Chicago. He offers me a chance on his
"Pretty flattering offers, Amory," said John
Howland, smiling, but still with the same odd ex-
pression, rather as though he were deliberately try-
ing to keep his face blank. " It would be hard to
decide between the two. Which does Mrs. Russell
" I haven't shown her either letter," said Amory,
" I don't intend to do so. That isn't the point. I
think I ought to stay in Freeport, and Aunt Eunice,
though she wants me to do so, is afraid it isn't the
best thing for me professionally. If she knew of
these letters, she would be more convinced than
"You are Tom's age, aren't you?" asked the
lawyer after a pause.
" Just twenty-six, sir."
" Well, what are you going to do? "
" Stay in Freeport as long as Aunt Eunice needs
There was a silence while Mr. Howland thought-
fully fingered the bronze paper-weight on his desk.
His face had lost its peculiar look and wore an
88 JOUKNEY'S END
expression that was indicative of satisfaction.
When lie did turn to Amory, it was with a smile.
" I used to like you as a boy, Amory," he said
quietly. " I think I'm going to find you worth while
as a man."
A corresponding smile came into Amory's eyes.
" I am glad you think I am right," he said boyishly.
'' I think you can very well afford a few years of
your life for the happiness of your Aunt Eunice.
And in the long run, I don't believe a man ever loses
by doing his duty. Aside from that, it is my honest
and unprejudiced opinion that Freeport is not an
unfavorable ground for you."
'' I think that also," said Amory. " Then I may
tell Aunt Eunice that you approve my decision? "
"You may. And when do you put out your
" Not immediately. Fd really like a little vaca-
tion. And of course, I shall have to see the State
Board and obtain permission to practise."
^^ Necessary formalities, to be sure. Well, I think
you deserve time to play. Still heart-whole,
Amory? Better for a doctor to marry."
" So Aunt Eunice says," laughed Amory.
" Freeport will show you some pretty girls. And
now for a bit of business. Mrs. Kussell and I be-
tween us have looked after your affairs and I have
used my best judgment whenever a decision had to
AMOKY VISITS JOHN HOWLAJ^D 89
be made. But now you are back and going to stay
in Freeport, you may want to take things into your
own hands. If you do, TU render an exact account
of my stewardship."
" Pm not such a fool as to bid a trusted pilot step
overboard, Mr. Howland. I want to understand
my affairs rather better than I do at present, and I
shall ask you to explain exactly how they stand,
but I mean to leave everything in your hands as
Uncle Robert did. I hope you don't object."
" I shall endeavor to serve your interests as faith-
fully as I did those of Robert," was the brief answer.
" By the way, Amory, you have never seen your
uncle's will? "
" I know its purport, that everything was left to
Aunt Eunice, which was as it should be, with the
exception of a considerable sum which Uncle Robert
set aside to accumulate for an unspecified purpose."
John Howland rose and crossed to the safe at one
side of his office. Opening an inner compartment,
he selected a paper.
" This is a copy of Robert's will," he said, hand-
ing it to the young man. " Its wording may inter-
Amory unfolded the single sheet. It was dated
five years earlier. After the usual preliminaries, it
set apart a certain sum of money to be kept in trust
for five years after the death of the testator, or un-
90 JOUENEY'S END
til the accumulated principal and interest should
reach a specified amount.
"The executors of this trust/' read the docu-
ment, "shall be John W. Howland, Andrew J.
Wheatland, and Henry C. Avery, all of the town of
Freeport, Massachusetts. With the said John W.
Howland, I have left complete instructions as to the
final purport and execution of this trust, and I
charge him and his fellow-executors to make its
nature public to no man until the expiration of
the time appointed, unless, before that date, the
cumulation of the sum specified shall take
" The rest of my estate, my house in Freeport,
known as Journey's End, and all other real and
personal property of which I may die possessed, I
leave to my wife, Eunice Mary Russell, to be hers
" The omission of my brother Charles's children,
Caroline Russell Chittick, and Amory Russell, is
intentional, because I consider both to be already
in receipt of incomes sufficient for any reasonable
needs, and because I have every confidence in my
wife's discretion and judgment. But to my nephew,
Amory, who has been to me as a son, I leave my
blessing and my undying love.
" I appoint as the executors of this will, my wife,
Eunice Mary Russell, and my trusted friend and
AMORY VISITS JOHN HOAVLAND 91
adviser, John W. Howland, both to serve without
John Howland busied himself about his desk
while Aniory read the document, but he was quite
aware of the sudden moisture that filled the eyes
of his visitor when they reached a certain sentence.
" Then even my Aunt Eunice does not know the
purpose of the trust here created? " Amory asked
after a time.
"No. It cannot be known for some time yet,
though I am inclined to think it will be before the
expiration of the full five years. Take that with
you, Amory; you are entitled to a copy."
" Uncle Robert so enjoyed helping others," ob-
served Amory, folding the paper. " I am sure his
purpose is to do something for Freeport. Thank
you, Mr. Howland. I've taken an unpardonable
amount of your time."
" No more than I chose to give you. Come in
later on and I'll have your accounts and invest-
ments arranged for you to see. And come up to
the house, Amory. Our door is always open for
" It's good of you to say that, sir. I should think
you and Mrs. Howland and the Averys would want
to avoid me, since I came back when Tom and Put
"We don't feel so, Amory. The fact that you
92 JOURNEY'S END
were the intimate friend of our dead sons only
gives Henry and me a very special interest in you."
When the young man had gone, John Howland
went thoughtfully to his safe. With another key
he unlocked a private compartment and from a
secret drawer concealed therein, took an envelope
marked : " Russell Trust."
He spent ten minutes in reading the paper it con-
tained and then locked and double-locked its abid-
"Well " he said again. "That will was
made when Amory was just twenty-one. From this
interview, it looks to me, — it very much looks to
me, — as though Robert's hopes for young Amory
were likely to be justified."
IN WHICH AMORY HELPS A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS AND
SEES THE WHITE WINQ AGAIN
FROM the lawyer's office, Amory went straight
to a duty that could but be hard, a call on
Putnam Avery's parents. It was one that
could not be avoided nor postponed, and yet proved
far harder than he anticipated. He himself was
bound to them by ties of affectionate association,
and shared sincerely in their sorrow. Mrs. Avery
tried her best to greet him calmly, but ended by
crying on his shoulder, while Amory sat with arms
about her, telling her again every incident of that
night in the field hospital, every word Putnam had
said. In the big chair opposite, Henry Avery, his
eyes concealed by a shadowing hand, listened in
When Amory reached Journey's End, the after-
noon was drawing on. He went straight through
the hall to the garden door.
" Oh, Amory," said Mrs. Russell's voice, " I am
glad thee has come. I am on the terrace and here
is Elizabeth, who is in pain from some object in her
Amory opened the screen-door and stepped out on
94 JOUKNEY^S END
the bricked platform. There, in her accustomed
chair, sat his aunt, dressed in silvery gray silk, and
close beside her the girl whom he had met in the
garden the previous morning, handkerchief pressed
to her face and looking anything but glad to see
him. As a matter of fact, Elizabeth had watched
him leave Journey's End, and deliberately chosen
the time of his absence to visit Mrs. Russell.
" Elizabeth, this is my nephew, Amory," said the
soft voice. "Elizabeth Emerson, the dear young
friend, of whom I spoke to thee, Amory. I have
been trying to relieve her pain, but I cannot find
the speck which is causing it."
" If Miss Emerson will permit me," said Amory.
" Just a moment until I wash my hands."
He smiled as he went into the house, for nothing
could have been less cordial than Elizabeth's ac-
knowledgment of the introduction. She did not
even offer her hand, merely nodded stiffly with no
trace of the freakish manner in which she had taken
leave of him after their encounter in the garden.
In less than the time specified he wa^ back and put-
ting a chair into place.
" Will you sit here so that I may have the light
as I want it? "
Elizabeth did not speak. She was mortified and
distressed at her predicament, but she did as re-
quested. The next second a hand with a firm but
AMOEY HELPS A DAMSEL 95
very gentle contact touched her cheek and forehead,
pressed back the lid.
" Please look upward," said Amory. " Now, to
Something touched the eyeball softly, and the
next second Elizabeth, her reddened eye still weep-
ing, was free from pain.
" There is the speck," said Amory, showing her a
minute black dot on his otherwise spotless handker-
" Such a little thing to hurt so much," observed
" Now, some hot water will complete the cure,"
replied Dr. Kussell, going into the house to return
presently, carrying a brass finger-bowl.
" Just dabble it with this," he said, offering her
the bowl and a folded bit of antiseptic gauze. "As
hot as you can stand it.
"I always like to take things out of people's
eyes," he observed as Elizabeth complied in silence.
" That and getting wax out of ears are two of the
few completely satisfactory things a doctor can do.
So many times we really can't set matters abso-
lutely right, but those simple operations give such
instant relief that it is a pleasure to perform
" I feel very much indebted," murmured Eliza-
beth in a formal manner.
96 JOUElSrEY'S END
" Well, you can do me a good turn in exchange,"
said Amory with a hint of fun in his voice. " You
see, I'm just back in the United States. Will you
kindly inform me, Miss Emerson, if the hair-cut
which the Freeport barber has inflicted upon me is
the latest and most desirable style? "
Elizabeth took a good look at the back of the
handsome head presented for her inspection, forgot
her dignity and began to giggle helplessly.
"Amory Eussell ! " exclaimed his aunt. " What
a naughty boy thee is ! Why did thee have thy hair
cut in that uncouth fashion? ''
Amory laughed as heartily as Elizabeth. " Be-
cause, little aunt of mine, I was reading the paper,
and didn't look into the glass until the matter was
past all help. When I did look and beheld myself,
shaved above the ears on sides and back, I nearly
fell out of the chair. Words failed me. I was
about to arise and murder the barber, when the look
of pious joy on his face as he admired the work of
his hands struck me, and I laughed instead. Thee
should be thankful, Aunt Eunice, that I looked up
when I did. Consider how thee would feel had I
come home with not a hair between me and
heaven ! "
"What a ridiculous boy thee is," sighed Mrs.
Russell, while Elizabeth continued to laugh.
" Thee is certainly a sight. Thy neck is so tanned
AMORY HELPS A DAMSEL 97
that thee has no idea how absurd is that shaven
stretch to the very tips of thy ears."
" Then I must keep my face turned toward thee,"
observed her nephew sweetly. " But tell me, Miss
Emerson, is this really the proper thing for Free
" The very latest fashion," Elizabeth informed
him. " I can assure you that you won't be con-
" Reassure thyself. Aunt Eunice. And I will en-
deavor to tan the newly-shaven portion to match
the rest. Miss Emerson, did you, by any chance,
do war work in France? "
" No," said Elizabeth bluntly. " Dot and Mar-
ion, my older sisters, both went. Dot as a secretary
with the Red Cross and Marion with the French
Relief. I wanted to go, and Mother said I might,
but she was r mining a hostess house at one of the
camps, and it was hard on Dad to have us all away.
So I stayed with him and my little brother."
" I asked because it seems as though I had met
you somewhere before. Possibly it might have
been one of your sisters, at some Red Cross dance
"It might have been Marion. She and I look
" Perhaps it was. Just let me see Low your eye
98 JOUKNEY'S END
Elizabetk raised her head, this time less ungra-
ciously, to permit a close inspection. " It's much
better and the irritation is entirely gone," she said.
Amory looked carefully at her eye, but the pro-
fessional examination completed, took one fleeting
glance of a more personal nature.
" Very dark slate-gray, almost black,'' he said to
himself. " Curious eyes, — like stormy thunder-
"Yes, it looks all right," he added aloud. A
whimsical wish came over him to see Elizabeth in
the unregenerate garments which had aroused his
aunt's indignation. Whatever Mrs. Kussell's pur-
pose in telling him that story, she had succeeded in
arousing his interest. To-day, there was certainly
nothing to be criticized in Elizabeth's dainty and
" I wish thee wouldn't hurry," said Mrs. Kussell
as the girl made a motion to go. " She has been
telling me, Amory, of her visit to Neponset and to
Bristol, and with what interest she saw the ship-
yards in both places."
"At Neponset they were working on a big yacht,"
said Elizabeth; "such a beautiful, live thing she
was. And yet she was named the Vanitie. I hated
her to have that name, for whatever else a boat is,
it has too much dignity to be frivolous."
" That is exactly the way I feel," said Amory,
AMORY HELPS A DAMSEL 99
rather surprised at this somewhat subtle comment.
"A boat may be coquettish and skittish, but it is
like the playfulness of a kitten or a spirited horse,
something too full of the joy of life to be vain. Do
you enjoy sailing. Miss Emerson? "
"Very much. But I^m not allowed to have a
boat. Dad is willing to let me sail if I take some
old moss-backed skipper along, but he won't let me
go by myself, — not even with Billy. I really must
go, dear Aunt Eunice. I came only for a minute
and Vve stopped forever."
" Thee is so welcome that thy visits always seem
short. Hand me my wrap, Amory, and we will
walk to the sea-wall with Elizabeth. The garden-
shears, too, dear, that she may have some roses."
The three sauntered slowly down the central gar-
den walk, past the sun-dial, Elizabeth and Mrs.
Russell consulting over the flowers. Amory was
rather silent. He obediently cut the roses indi-
cated by his aunt, and to-day Elizabeth did not
specify their color. As they came in full view of
the harbor, Amory gave a sudden exclamation.
Elizabeth looked up. He stood with gaze fixed
on a pretty white boat anchored off-shore, a fair-
sized sloop with the fine, clean lines of a yacht.
Freshly-painted, with a green trimming, she dipped
and rose buoyantly on the harbor swell, her bare
mast describing rakish circles against the sky.
100 JOUENEY'S END
Nearer at hand was her dinghy, painted to match
and fastened to a pulley-float.
Elizabeth thought the boat a beauty, but was also
struck by the expression of blank surprise on Dr.
Russell's face. She glanced at his aunt, to see
there a look of sweet expectancy.
"Aunt Eunice, thee is truly adorable ! " exclaimed
Amory the next second. " My own Whitewing!
and thee has had her put in shape. I shall posi-
tively have to hug thee at once, and if Miss Emer-
son doesn't like it, she may look the other way ! "
Elizabeth only smiled sympathetically.
"Who but thee would have thought of it?"
Amory went on, still standing with one arm around
the slender gray-clad figure.
" I knew thee would wish to sail, so in Fourth
month, when thee wrote thy intention to be here
this early summer, I sent for Ezra Lindsay and
directed him to put the Whitewing in good condi-
tion with fresh paint and new cordage or canvas as
needed. She should have been here to greet thy
arrival, but Ezra found her seams had opened badly
during her long stay out of water. Ezra is not a
rapid workman, as thee knows, but he is a faithful
one. He brought her during thy absence this after-
noon and said he had sailed her around Clam
Island and that she was shipshape for thy use."
"Isn't she adorable, Miss Emerson?" asked
AMORY HELPS A DAMSEL 101
Amory boyishly. "Aunt Eunice, I mean," he
added as Elizabeth glanced at the boat.
" Indeed she is ! " agreed Elizabeth heartily, with
a charming expression suddenly lighting her face.
" There, children, you should not exaggerate. I
have told thee in the past, Amory, that thee
' adores ' no one but thy Creator."
" That's all thee knows about me. Aunt Eunice,"
said Amory, laughing so contagiously that Eliza-
beth laughed also, both at his tone and at the
abrupt impulsive embrace in which he again seized
" It was simply bully of thee. This afternoon I
was thinking of the Whitewing and longing to be
out in her, but I knew she'd leak like a sieve. I
came home meaning to have her put in the water at
He was silent and his aunt, ever watching his
face, knew that across his mind flashed a memory
of the boys who used to sail the Whiieimng with
him. It was borne in upon her that Amory m^st
take his first trip alone. Out in the wide stretches
of the sunny harbor, in the surging tide and the
clean salt smell of the sea, the memories that came
to him would be tender and loving but not wholly
sad. And for his healing, he must go out to meet
"Some day soon, when the wind is fair," she
102 JOUKNEY'S END
said, turning to Elizabeth, " if Amory will take us,
would tliee like to try the Whitewing? Amory is a
careful seaman, but it is best for him to take her
first by himself, get his hand in as he would say, but
when he has done that, would thee like to go? ''
" rd simply adore it ! " exclaimed Elizabeth im-
petuously, and then clapped her hand over her
mouth with a mischievous startled look at Mrs.
Russell. The gesture was so spontaneous and her
expression so precisely that of a naughty child, that
it swept the sadness from Amory's face and sent
him into sympathetic amusement.
" Unmannerly children ! " sighed Eunice Russell
in pretended displeasure. "You should both be
set down to an hour's meditation. But I like to
sail, Elizabeth, and I Imow the main sheet when I
see it, and a schooner from a brig. When Amory
has taken the Whitewiny for a trial spin, we will
plan a little expedition together."
IN WHICH AMOEY CONSIDERS THE DRAGON
WITHIN a few days Journey's End became
the scene of a small army of busy work-
. men, since to arrange the east wing for
the use of a physician required numerous changes.
Having heard John Howland's approval of
Amory's decision to stay in Preeport, Mrs. Russell
made no further protest, but accepted his determi-
nation with a thankful heart. Amory refused the
two offers made him, with firmness but not without
regret. It was true that he already had to his
credit more hospital experience than falls to the
share of the average young medical graduate, but
to accept either offer would have thrown him in con-
tact with men disposed to be helpful, and who could
have placed in his way opportunities to speedy
Amory fully realized that the decision was in a
sense a sacrifice, but he did not permit himself to
reconsider nor to show his aunt those letters. Once,
after the matter was settled and the thing irrevo-
cable, he was annoyed as well as surprised by a
104 JOUENEY'S END
sudden thought which appeared thrust upon his
attention from some subconscious depth.
" The palmist at that fool festival into which I
wandered gave me a piece of advice," the thought
took shape. " Now, what was it? "
Amory cudgeled his mind for the words of that
warning, and the next moment they stood before his
mental vision as though written in fire: "Think
twice, yes, three times, before you take any impor-
tant step in life, and ask advice not only of your
heart, but of your intellect."
Amory sat considering the memory. He had no
faith in the palmist, no belief in anything of the
kind. He had been brought up to look upon such
matters as tricks and deception, but he had dealt
enough with his fellow-men to be an observant and
keen reader of character. He had come out of that
booth with the impression that the lady personify-
ing the Italian princess was herself in earnest and
practising no conscious deceit.
" Well, I have made a decision which will prob-
ably affect my whole life," he said to himself, " and
I can't claim that I made it in haste. It is true
that Aunt Eunice's condition at present is not such
as to be a source of immediate anxiety, and true
that I have turned down two offers most chaps
would have jumped at. When I analyze that deci-
sion down to the ground, I did listen to my heart
AMORY CONSIDERS THE DRAGON 105
and not my head. Still, I chose what seemed my
duty, and John Howland agreed with me, and he is
a keen man of business. And Uncle Henry Avery
thinks I have done the right thing; he told me so.
No, I don't regret it, though, of course, I couldn't
afford to do it if I were dependent on what I can
make out of a practice here. And I have been taught
to believe that when one earnestly seelis for guid-
ance in a difficulty, a clear leading will be given.
This seemed the path indicated for me, but neither
Fenwick nor Cutter will understand."
Neither one did understand, and both wrote
Amory plainly that he was making a serious mis-
take, though Dr. Fenwick tempered his letter by a
kindly assurance that he would keep Dr. Russell in
mind. Amory shut those letters into his desk and
went on with his preparations.
"Why does thee never use the east parlor? " he
asked one morning when he and his aunt were re-
turning from their usual inspection of the work
accomplished on the previous day. It was yet
early and the men had not arrived.
"I really cannot tell thee, Amory,'' said Mrs.
Russell as they stood on the threshold of the room
specified. " It is just a vague dislike I feel for the
place, a foolish dislike, since I cannot put it into
words. Whenever I come here for a few moments,
it seems to me that my mind becomes unruly and I
106 JOUKNEY'S END
cannot control nor concentrate my thoughts. 1
have never been especially drawn to this room."
" In itself it is beautiful," said Amory, glancing
around. " The mahogany furniture is especially
fine, and I like the rugs and the ivory dragon ca-
vorting on the mantel."
" The rugs are valuable," replied his aunt. " Thy
Uncle Robert considered the Shiraz there one of the
finest in his collection. And the Beluchistan he
also prized. It was but a Turcoman rug which
Caroline chose for her experiments in magic, and
though it was costly it was not without price as is
" I know very little about the rugs," observed
Amory, " only that they are beautiful. Thee must
teach me the distinctions between them."
" Robert enjoyed them as so many pictures," said
his aunt, looking at the wonderful silken prayer-
mat hanging on the wall opposite. " I, too, care
for them, but I have never liked that dragon."
" I like the old chap," said Amory, crossing the
room to look at it. "He^s a marvelous piece of
The ivory dragon in question was about a foot in
length and six inches high, standing on a green
velvet mat under a low glass bell which protected
from dust its intricately carved and lapped scales.
Such nicety of execution seemed scarcely possible
AMOKY CONSIDERS THE DRAGON 107
for human hands; it had almost the perfection of
nature. The eyes, faintly tinged with green, fairly
glared at the observer, and from its mouth extended
a venomous tongue. Almost one could hear the
hiss of escaping hate.
" That carving is very old," said Mrs. Russell.
" I recall that Robert dated the dragon far beyond
the Christian era."
" It's odd," observed Amory thoughtfully, " but
this dragon is almost the only curiosity in Jour-
ney's End that Uncle Robert never told me about.
I believe I could pass an examination on practically
everything else that any of the Russells brought
from India or China, but I don't know the first
thing about this."
" Neither do I, save that Robert once told me that
it came to his father, the third Amory, with a sin-
ister story attached, but I have never heard the
story, nor do I know whether Robert himself knew
"Didn't it once have an amulet of some sort
about its neck? "
"Thee is right, Amory. There was tied to its
neck by a golden wire a square of jade with a single
large baroque pearl set in its centre and surrounding
the pearl some characters in the Chinese language.
It was curious and strange, but of no especial value,
and when it caught Caroline's eye on her last visit
108 JOUENEY'S END
here, I took it from the dragon^s neck and gave it
to her. I was surprised that she cared for it, for
Caroline has her mother's jewels as well as the
many Jermain has given her, but this was barbaric
enough to be in the present fashion, and Caroline
was pleased. She attached it to her golden chain
as a pendant and, if one cares for that sort of per-
sonal ornament, it was not uncomely."
"I can imagine it would be rather stunning,"
said Amory, passing on. " I thought the dragon
didn't look just as I remembered it, but it is the
absence of that amulet."
" If thee likes this room especially, we will sit
here," added his aunt.
" Oh, I don't. It is more stately and formal than
the west room. That lends itself to thy knitting
and my books and papers well enough."
" I have found more peace in the west wing," said
his aunt. " I will tell Lydia that we are ready for
breakfast. It seems to be late."
Amory delayed, looking around the east parlor
with its many odd and valuable ornaments. The
blue vases on either side of the dragon he knew to
be worth their weight in gold ; the Boston Museum
had once offered to buy t'lem. To set such a price
upon a bit of porcelain seemed absurd. With a
sweep of the hand he could brush one aside and it
would lie a useless heap of fragments. That Shiraz
AMOKY CONSIDEES THE DKAGON 109
rug, too, with its shimmering colors and silken tex-
ture, — in three minutes could be reduced to a heap
of valueless fragments. The jeweled sword in its
scabbard was doubtless as effective after centuries
of disuse as in the days when some oriental noble-
man used it to crack the skulls of his enemies.
And all these had crossed more seas than one.
What tales of distant lands, of love and hate and
far-off, shadowy sorrows and sin they might tell,
could they but speak, could they but impress upon
a susceptible mind the aura of past environment,
too subtle for ordinary human senses to perceive.
" Breakfast is ready, Amory," said Lydia's voice.
" Thy aunt is seated."
Amory came back from his musings with a sense
of irritation over the interruption. He was sur-
prised to realize that he had drawn the sword and
held its naked blade. Down its grooved hilt ran a
little shower of loose pearls, making curious music
in their course.
" Thee had better put that aside, Amory," said
Lydia. " The coffee will cool."
" What on earth makes me so cross? " thought
Amory, appreciating that he had slammed the
sword into its protecting case with a petulance en-
tirely foreign to his nature. '^ Why shouldn't Lydia
tell me not to keep Aunt Eunice waiting? "
" There are letters for thee," said his aunt as he
110 JOUKNEY'S END
joined her on the terrace where Lydia had laid the
table. " The postman must have reversed his route.
At times our mail comes between ten and eleven,
but again we are among the first deliveries. It was
always a pleasure to come to my breakfast and to
see, even at a distance, the censor's stamp upon an
envelope. It proved a slight trial when the post-
man, no doubt for his own good purposes, came to
Journey's End at the close of his route."
Amory glanced at his mail. " Thee will excuse
me, Aunt Eunice? Ah, this is what I thought, my
license to practise medicine in the State of Massa-
chusetts. Now, when thee has need of my services,
I can offer them legitimately. My weekly examina-
tion of thy heart, even the removal of a cinder from
Elizabeth Emerson's eye, have not been completely
within the law."
"I have sometimes thought the men who make
the laws do not show marked intelligence," said
Mrs. Russell so gently that Amory burst out laugh-
" Especially when they insist upon thy nephew's
showing good reason why he should think himself
fit to cure the ills of Freeport? Thee is unlike
Aunt Ruth Avery. When Put finished at Tech and
went to build a railroad in Cuba, she said to me:
* Do you think my Putnam knows enough to build
a real railway? ' Now, if I should attempt to fl^y
AMOEY CONSIDERS THE DRAGON 111
an airplane without instruction, thee would express
confidence in my success."
"And is thee not glad that somebody in the world
has absolute confidence in thee? Not that I wish
to go on thy first flight."
" It is worth everything, Aunt Eunice. And we
shall not need to risk the airplane, for Couch says
here that the car I ordered is ready for delivery.
We will go for a joy-ride to-night."
"And that will be safer than thy untamed air-
plane. Did thee hear the Emersons depart very
early this morning? "
"No," said Amory. "Where are they going?"
" It is Mrs. Emerson and the two older girls, and
they are motoring to Bar Harbor, where they will
spend most of the summer with Mrs. Emerson's
sister. Elizabeth did not go. She is the daughter
who takes thought for her father, and she does not
willingly leave him at the mercy of servants. In
another week William departs for a boys' camp,
and that will leave the father and daughter alone."
" It's rather good of her not to go back on Mr.
Emerson," commented her nephew.
"Elizabeth and her father hold each other in
affection, perhaps more so than the other members
of the family," remarked Mrs. Russell thoughtfully.
" I do not think Elizabeth is wholly happy with her
mother. Mrs. Emerson's ambitions for her girls
112 JOUKNEY'S END
are worldly, and while Dorothy and Marion seem
to approve and to fall in with them, Elizabeth alter-
nates between wild moods when she will go as far
and do as strange things as any of the reckless
young people, and others when she is thoughtful
and womanly. During the war, while she felt that
duty required her to stay with her father, she threw
herself heart and soul into work at home, and
showed herself most efficient both in its planning
and in its execution. At the time of the influenza
epidemic, when nurses were few, she went person-
ally into the homes of the stricken. When I en-
counter Elizabeth in one of her frivolous moods, I
recall to my mind how she tended sick children in
the isolation hospital. There was a night when a
nurse was urgently needed for a boy of sixteen, a
poor boy seriously ill with pneumonia in a forlorn
home. Elizabeth, who had taken the courses in
first-aid, listened to the directions of the physician,
and alone stood by that lad and cared for him until
an experienced attendant could be secured. With-
out doubt she saved his life.
" I count as a gain from this terrible conflict,'*
Mrs. Eussell continued, "that I saw below the
frivolous exterior of some of my neighbors. I
found in those whom I supposed had no serious
ideal or ambition sincere desire to help and ability
to do so. I found unexpected fijie qualities in those
AMOKY CONSIDEKS THE DRAGOISr 113
whom I blindly thought to be devoted only to the
pursuit of self-indulgent pleasure. It was a lesson
to me and I have tried to follow more humbly and
more carefully the commandment against judging
others. I see the smile in thy eyes, Amory, but thee
does not know my temptations, how serious they
are nor how often I weakly yield. Shall I refill thy
" Please," said Amory. " Is it too sunny for thee
on the harbor, or would thee like to go sailing
" I felt some slight fatigue the other day when we
went and took Elizabeth," said his aunt, lifting the
heavy silver coffee-pot. " Perhaps it would be bet-
ter for me not to go out in this sun. Why does thee
not ask Phebe Ames to go with thee? It would
please Hannah to have thee do so, and would not be
displeasing to Phebe herself."
" I might," said Amory. " Fortunately I called
there the other night, so it won't seem too informal
to telephone an invitation, will it? Is thee sure
thee does not wish to go? Will thee trust Phebe
and me unchaperoned together? "
" Thee thinks thee teases me, Amory," said his
aunt, handing back the cup, " but thee forgets that
I taught thee proper manners, and that Phebe is the
granddaughter of Hannah Ames."
m WHICH ELIZABETH LOSES HER TEMPER AND LOOKS
OVER A HIGH WALL
ELIZABETH'S intimacy with their charming
Quaker neighbor had never escaped the
observant eyes of her family. It was a
"crush" that amused her sisters, slightly aston>
ished her mother, and met with sympathy from her
father. Having been in the Freeport bank one day
when Mrs. Russell entered to transact some busi-
ness, Mr. Emerson, noticing the extreme deference
paid her by the cashier, the courtesy with which the
manager came himself to attend to the slender lady
in the quaint bonnet and gray silk gown, had looked
with interested attention which soon became re-
He listened with genuine pleasure to the tales
Elizabeth related of the lovely owner of the great
house next door, and at her request, went with his
daughter to call. After that call, though a com-
parative stranger in Freeport, he would willingly
have performed for Eunice Russell any service she
might ask. There was in John Emerson's nature a
ELIZABETH LOSES HER TEMPER 115
strain which responded at once to the simple charm
of her manner and to the story told by her face.
Her influence upon his favorite daughter could not
be otherwise than fine, and he secretly thought
Elizabeth improved by the friendship. He could
scarcely put into words the vague discomfort and
unhappiness caused by the devotion of his wife and
his older daughters to society; he only knew that
divided from the Fiske house by a ten-foot brick
wall, lay a little world of roses and gentle living,
where his Elizabeth seemed to cultivate qualities
which did not flourish at home.
Dorothy and Marion considered Elizabeth's lik-
ing for Mrs. Russell merely a queer whim. Bess
was liable to be odd and to like odd people, and
though both agreed that Mrs. Russell was an " old
dear " and Journey's End a treasure-trove of lovely
things, neither cared in the least to stay in its at-
mosphere. So, until the advent of Amory, Eliza-
beth was laughed at mildly, but left to do as she
pleased. If she liked to help Mrs. Russell garden
or run over to show her new dancing-frock, it was
funny, but just like Bess.
With Dr. Russell's return, the attitude of the
Emerson family underwent a change. As Billy ex-
pressed it, they began to sit up and take notice.
And the notice annoyed Elizabeth.
After her first blundering into the garden, un-
116 JOUENEY'S END
aware that Amory was at home, and her call at a
time when she knew he had left the house, she
stayed away until Mrs. Russell telephoned to ask
if she would go sailing.
The rest of the family considered the invitation
a huge joke, and Elizabeth, resenting their amuse-
ment, went down to the Whitewing in a mood which
made her eyes more like storm-clouds than ever and
which did not relax until she was well under the
spell of Mrs. RusselFs sweet influence. She was a
silent Elizabeth, save for one or two spontaneous
outbreaks which gave a glimpse of her real self, and
which made Amory wonder why this girl, every
time he encountered her, began by being sulky and
ended in a mood which attracted him and left him
wishing to see her again. During the latter part
of their sail Elizabeth forgot her irritation and
frankly enjoyed herself. When the little yacht
again reached her moorings and the sails dropped
and lay in folds in the soft evening light, she helped
furl them and stepped into the tender to be rowed
ashore, with a real peace in her heart, a peace
which quickly fled when she encountered her sisters
in the up-stairs sitting-room belonging to the three
" Did your blue linen middy make its expected
impression? " drawled Dorothy, who lay reading on
the couch, while Marion sat at the desk, her pen
ELIZABETH LOSES HER TEMPER 117
poised over a letter to her fianc^. Marion liad
come home from France with an " understanding/'
an arrangement which Mrs. Emerson eagerly sanc-
tioned and Mr. Emerson reluctantly tolerated.
" I don^t know what you mean," said Elizabeth
" On Dr. Russell, darling. Wasn't that why you
wore it? I believe you've been cultivating Mrs.
Russell all these months so as to have the inside
" I'd hate to own such a horrid mind as you have,
Dot," said Elizabeth indignantly. "You know
that isn't true. She's a dear and I loved her before
I even knew she had a nephew. And it was she
who invited me, not Dr. Russell. I don't think he
cared a rap about my being aboard. He was taken
up with his boat and with his aunt. He was sweet
to her, and just ordinarily polite to me."
" Do you hear, Marion? " chuckled Dorothy.
" Bess expected him to be sweet to her! That's
pretty rapid action, my child. Don't crowd him !
Consider, too, that you had a third person pres-
"I think you are hateful. Dot. You know I
didn't mean that. I don't believe any girl would
come before his aunt ; he is devoted to her."
"Why, naturally," said the exasperating Dor-
othy. "He has good reason for devotion. Bert
118 JOUKNEY'S END
Conwell told me that Mrs. RusselPs husband left
everything to her ; didn't give Amory a single cent.
If he wants it after his aunt dies, he'd better make
up to her. Bert says Mrs. Russell is the wealthiest
woman in Freeport."
^' I don't believe one word of it," sputtered Eliza-
beth. " He isn't nice only because it's to his inter-
est, but because he loves her. Nobody could see
them together and doubt it."
" Somebody told me," said Marion, speaking for
the first time, " that Dr. Russell inherited a lot of
money from his own father. It wouldn't be a bad
thing for Bess and certainly "
The sound of a violently closed door broke Mar-
" Pass the cigarettes, that's a dear," sighed Dor-
othy. "Of course, it would be a fine thing for
Bess ; Mother said so herself. We didn't know Mrs.
Russell's nephew was such a catch, but the girls are
all talking about him, and it looks as though Bess
knew the whole time. If I weren't going to Bar
Harbor and you weren't spoken for, we might have
some fun. I really didn't give Bess credit for being
so far-sighted. If she manages right, it ought not
to be a hard job."
" I wouldn't bet on Elizabeth," observed Marion,
selecting a cigarette for herself and throwing the
box to Dorothy. "And I wouldn't push her too far,
ELIZABETH LOSES HER TEMPER 119
Dot. If you say too much she'll turn balky. Hush,
she's coming back."
Elizabeth reopened the door with a scowling dig-
nity that included in its disapproval both sisters.
She cast a glance at the table.
" Is it that letter you dropped? " asked Marion,
pointing to the envelope on the floor.
" I see now why you chose not to go to Bar Har-
bor, Bess," drawled Dot between puffs of her ciga-
rette. " But Father answers very well for an ex-
" I stayed with Father all the time you two were
in France," snapped Elizabeth. " He's no more of
an excuse now than he was then."
Dorothy looked reflectively at the door, slamming
for the second time.
" Bess has such a temper ! " she sighed. " Tm
just as well pleased that she decided not to go to
In her own room, Elizabeth cried for fifteen min-
utes, bitterly, resentfully, and over something she
could feel rather than express in words, cried in
angry protest over being credited with unworthy
and sordid motives. Her sisters seemed somehow
to profane that bit of pure idealistic friendship
which had touched with beauty her irresponsible
girlhood. And yet Elizabeth was too fundamen-
tally honest not to acknowledge that the part of her
120 JOUKNEY'S ENJy
nature which sometimes broke into wild extrava-
gances of youthful folly might be capable of low
After a time she rose from her bed, dried her eyes
and sat by the window watching the sunset splen-
dors that yet lent color to the harbor. It was abso-
lutely no use to care because Dot and Marion mis-
judged her; they estimated others incorrectly as
well. Dr. Eussell had been in a gay, engagingly
boyish mood that afternoon, singing his aunt an
absurd nautical ditty about a ship called the Wal-
loping Window-Blind^ saying funny, teasing things
to her, which Mrs. Eussell met with bright counter-
thrusts of her own. Could Marion and Dot listen
to such a conversation and believe it sprang from
anything but deep and enduring affection on either
side? Elizabeth did not credit them with such
" He was perfectly dear to her," she thought, " in
the nicest kind of way, too. K he ever really made
love to a girl "
Blushing and indignant with herself for the very
thought, Elizabeth undressed, went to bed and
resolutely read until she was sleepy.
A week after the sail and this conversation,
Elizabeth and her father sat down to a late break-
fast, the rest of the family having made their early
start for Maine,
ELIZABETH LOSES HER TEMPER 1-3
"It's good of you to stay with me, Bess," ob-
served Mr. Emerson over his newspaper and his
second cup of coffee. " I appreciate it."
" I hate it at Aunt Anne's," admitted Elizabeth
bluntly. " I hate a lot of things, Daddy. I guess
I'm growing hateful."
" Well, don't end by hating me," said her father
whimsically. " What ! a telegram? "
" Yes, sir," replied the maid, presenting it at his
" This means New York," said Mr. Emerson, hav-
ing read it. " I suppose I shall have to go, but I
am sorry to leave you alone over night with only
Billy, my girl. By the way," he added, running a
discontented hand through his hair, "where is
" Gone for a picnic on the dunes with five other
boys and a perfectly immense lunch. No, Daddy,
they're not going near a boat. It is to be a clam
roast, I know, for I gave Billy the money for the
" I'm sorry you'll have a lonely day. Can't you
telephone some girl to come to lunch with you or go
to lunch with her? Or come into Boston with me.
I'll meet you at noon and take you to the Copley."
"I think I'll have a quiet day at home. Dad.
Thank you just the same."
" Whatever pleases you, Bess. Will you pack a
bag for me or tell somebody to do it? 1^11 stop for
it on my way to the station, and I'll telegraph to-
morrow if I'm not coming back."
" I'll pack your bag," said his daughter, and
about ten she went to her father's room to do so.
Her task completed, she stepped to the window, in-
tending to adjust a curtain left askew by a careless
" Why, I didn't realize Daddy's room overlooked
the garden of Journey's End," she thought.
" There's the sun-dial and the fountain and down
below the sea-wall the Whitewing. I can see a tiny
bit of the terrace and windows open in the corner
room. That must be Dr. Russell's room, for Aunt
Eunice's is at the front."
Elizabeth stood idly, for the picture spread below
was charming in its sunlit serenity.
" There's dear Aunt Eunice/' she thought, and
leaned from the window ready to call. She checked
herself suddenly as she saw that Mrs. Russell was
not alone, but accompanied by a girl about her own
age, a slender girl dressed in white. As she looked^
both turned back.
"Amory," called Mrs. Russell's sweet voice,
" bring Phebe's wrap from the terrace."
Elizabeth heard the assenting answer and the
next second saw Dr. Russell coming from the house,
oars over his shoulder, a dark blue sweater over one
ELIZABETH LOSES HEE TEMPER 123
arm and a rose-colored one on the other. He was
singing as he came and the words, in the decidedly-
musical voice Elizabeth had already heard, were
distinctly audible :
* * ' Ah, love, do you deem me cruel
That I leave you here alone ?
But the wide sea calls her children ;
Each goes at last to his own.' "
"Yes, that's true," thought Elizabeth bitterly,
" of every one of us according to the company we
keep and the ideals we try to reach. I'm not on a
par with the people who live in Journey's End and
I never shall be. And Dot is hateful, just hateful
But she did not leave the window, and presently
she saw two w^hite-clad figures row out in the
dinghy, saw Dr. Russell help his companion aboard
the WMtewing, saw the mainsail raised and the
boat head for the outer harbor. Presently Mrs.
Russell returned to the house.
" Phebe is a Quaker name," Elizabeth's thoughts
ran as the little yacht grew more distant. " Prob-
ably she is somebody he's always known and is glad
to get back to. He's put up the flying- jib. There
can't be so much wind as we had the other day. I
wonder whether I could go over to Journey's End
and transplant that phlox without anybody's know-
124 JOURNEY'S END
ing. The Whiteimng won't be back for two hours
at least and Aunt Eunice needn't see me if I work
only in that border. Somehow I think I might feel
less hateful if I were on the other side of that wall
for a while."
IN WHICH BILLY THINKS HE IS DYING
BILLY'S picnic on the dunes proved all that
a boy of fourteen could demand of a pleas-
ant day, boon companions and plentiful
food. Elizabeth thought of him more than once
during the passing hours, for she, too, loved the
dunes, and in some of her moods would drive her
car till further progress became impossible, and
tramp for half a day in their solitudes.
T\Tien her brother arrived that night, tired, sun-
burned and incredibly dirty, but in excellent spirits
and completely satisfied with his day, she was wait-
ing for him on the beach and listened with sisterly
appreciation to his tale. Billy approved of Eliza-
beth, openly declaring that she was worth Dot and
Marion put together, and on finding her alone at
home, loudly proclaimed his satisfaction.
" I don't mind Dad ; he doesn't butt in, but Dot
is the limit. Fm glad they've gone to Maine. I'd
rather have you than all the rest of the bunch."
The artless comment fell sweetly on Elizabeth's
sore heart and injured pride. She reciprocated by
ordering delicacies for Billy's evening meal.
126 JOURNEY'S END
" I don't feel so very hungry," he admitted. " 1
guess I'll go to bed."
" I would," said Elizabeth, dismissing him with
a pat on the rough head. " Take a hot bath, Billy ;
do, and you'll sleep like a top. I'm coming up be-
Billy blundered up-stairs, already half asleep,
took the prescribed bath — ^but didn't wash his face
— and tumbled into bed.
About midnight Elizabeth was aroused by an
unusual sound. Startled into full wakefulness, she
presently identified it as of human nature and pro-
ceeding from Billy's room. Slipping into kimono
and sandals, she ran down the hall to find her
young brother groaning in pain.
" I'm dying," he gasped. " I'm dying, Bess, I
tell you. Oh! Oh! ''
Elizabeth procured hot water, peppermint,
brandy, none of which assuaged Billy's pangs, oc-
curring with increasing frequency and violence.
" Miss Bess, you'd better call the doctor," said
the white-faced cook, who, with two other scared
maids, had heard Billy's groans and come to offer
Elizabeth herself thought so. This was no ordi-
nary stomach-ache. Billy's face was white under
its coat of tan, he was feverish and yet the cold
perspiration stood on his freckled forehead. Be-
BILLY THmXS HE IS DYIKG 127
tween spasms of pain he fell exhausted on his pil-
low. Elizabeth ran down to the telephone.
" Dr. Utter is out on an important case," said the
wife of their family practitioner. " You might try
Dr. Lewis was reported on his vacation and
Elizabeth knew no other physician of reputation.
She appealed to Central.
" I'll call Dr. Jones," said the operator. " He's
Dr. Jones was out of town. " Have you tried
that new man who has just come to Freeport?"
inquired Central, moved from her usual imperson-
ality by Elizabeth's need and her dilemma. " Dr.
" No," said Elizabeth. " I thought he hadn't be-
gun to practise."
" He'd surely come for an emergency and he's
right next door to you. Shall I ring him? "
" Yes," said Elizabeth, taking a sudden resolve.
Dot might laugh at her and think her doing it pur-
posely; Dr. Russell might consider her what he
chose, but Billy was in terrible pain and she could
get no one else to help her.
The receiver at the other end was taken down
almost immediately and a pleasant voice said:
" This is Amory Russell."
"I am Elizabeth Emerson, Dr. Russell, and
128 JOURNEY'S END
Billy, my brother, is dreadfully sick, rm alone
with him, and our own doctor is out and I've tried
for two others. I know you aren't practising yet,
but will you "
Dr. Kussell did not wait for her to finish the sen-
tence. " I'U be with you in five minutes, Miss Em-
erson," and back went the receiver.
Elizabeth hung up hers and dropped into a hall
chair, shivering and frightened. Even there she
could hear the sounds of Billy's woe.
Though her distress was keen and every moment
seemed an eternity, she realized that Dr. Kussell
arrived very quickly and yet was fully dressed,
causing Elizabeth, as she admitted him, to become
suddenly conscious of her blue silk negligee, her
bare feet thrust into straw sandals, her hair in two
heavy braids. But there was not the slightest indi-
cation in Dr. Russell's face that her attire was in
the least unusual.
"What is it? " he asked at once.
"Billy went on a picnic. I suppose he over-
" Probably too much picnic. Upstairs? "
Elizabeth nodded and followed him. At the landr
ing he turned in the direction of the one lighted
room. The cook and maids withdrew, being less
dressed than Elizabeth.
Dr. Russell put down the little black case he car-
BILLY THINKS HE IS DYING 129
ried, gave one look at Billy, took off his coat, turned
back his cuffs and went to work. So far as Eliza-
beth was concerned, she might have been merely an
automaton to do his bidding, but between them they
spent a crowded hour. Elizabeth ceased to think
of her attire, or rather her lack of it, for the doctor
never withdrew his attention from Billy. And how
sure and certain every motion was, how gentle his
touch, how sympathetic his tone when Billy, worn
out with pain, dissolved into helpless tears.
" Buck up for a few minutes longer," he said
cheerily. " You're better, Billy ; you're better, only
you don't know it yet."
At this, Billy smiled through sobs. The proph-
ecy proved correct, for just as the first waking birds
announced the summer dawn, Billy lay pale and
exhausted, shaken from head to foot, but free from
pain and from further cause for pain.
"And now, Billy," said Dr. Eussell, leaning back
in a relaxed attitude, " tell me what you ate on your
" Cherries," said Billy, " clams, a lobster, cucum-
bers, hot-dogs, lemon-pie, pickleg, watermelon, gin-
ger-ale, — I forget the rest."
" You've remembered quite enough ! " said Dr.
Russell, looking at Elizabeth with a laugh in his
eyes. The look was so friendly, so full of fun, and
yet so utterly unconscious of anything unconven-
130 JOUENEY'S EKD
tional in the situation tliat she smiled back with
" You remind me, Billy, of an occasion when
three small boys picnicked on Clam Island and
dined not wisely but too well. I recall that my
aunt and uncle sat up with me most of the
" I came pretty near croaking, didn't I? " asked
Billy, luxuriating in his misery, now it was past.
" Oh, I wasn't afraid of that," said Dr. Kussell
calmly. ^^ I was only afraid you would tie yourself
into such hard knots that I couldn't straighten you
Billy laughed. " It must be funny to be a doctor
and hear people squeal," he said. "And you were
at the front in France, weren't you? I'll bet you
had a bully good time."
A rather odd expression crossed Dr. EusselPs
face as he fitted a tiny bottle into its proper place
in the black bag.
" It wasn't my idea of a bully good time," he said
rather gravely. " You haven't really been enjoying
yourself these past two hours, have you? Well, in
France, I sometimes worked for hours at a stretch,
helping one boy after another, without a break be-
tween, and every one of them was in mortal pain.
It isn't easy to see people suffer, and the amount we
could do to help was only a drop in the bucket. It
BILLY THINKS HE IS DYING 131
wasn't unconinion for a surgeon to keep on till lie
dropped where lie stood."
"Gee!'' said the astonished Billy. "I didn't
know it was like that. Did you ever keel over? "
" What did they do with you? "
" Shoved me one side and went on working. No-
body had time to waste on a man who merely
fainted. Now, Billy, I want you to go to sleep.
Keep covered and don't get up till your sister says
"I want you to come and see me again," an-
nounced the invalid.
" You don't need me," said the young doctor
laughingly. "You'll be perfectly all right when
you wake except for feeling weak. You're not go-
ing to disintegrate while you sleep."
" I know it, but I want you to come again. Eve,
tell him he's to come."
"Why, if it isn't necessary, we oughtn't to
bother him," began Elizabeth, somewhat surprised
by a sudden look the doctor divided between her
and her brother.
" Oh, I'll drop in for a friendly call, Billy, if that
is all you want," he said pleasantly. " And when
you are round again, I'll show you a specimen of
what I consider a bully good time, a spin in the
Whitewing, On a nice breezy day, with the right
132 JOUKNEY'S END
people aboard, that's the best fun I know. Don't
bother to come down-stairs, Miss Emerson; 111 let
"I was sorry to trouble you/' said Elizabeth,
following him into the hall, "but I didn't know
what to do. I'm immensely indebted to you."
" You needn't be. Billy really needed help and
you were entirely justified in calling a physician.
I am glad to have been of service."
"I hope the telephone didn't wake your
"I don't think Aunt Eunice heard it. I have
had an extension put on and when I go up at night,
I arrange it so the bell rings only in my own room.
She may possibly have heard me go out, but I don't
think she did. I hope you will get some rest your-
self now; you must need it. Good-night, or rather,
Amory returned to his own premises but did not
at once enter the house. Instead he walked slowly
on the brick paths among the flowers and the wak-
ing birds, smoking and watching the dawn come
over the harbor, gray and pearly at first, with ever-
increasing color and loveliness, but his thoughts
were not wholly on the sunrise.
" Billy certainly called her Eve," he said to him-
self. ^^ Was that name Eve or Phebe? Which of
those two girls was the one in the booth? And am
BILLY THUSTKS HE IS DYING 133
I really so foolish as to think it matters either
When he went in, the house was still dark, for
there the early dawn had not penetrated. As Amory
passed the open door of the east parlor, his atten-
tion was for a second arrested by two peculiar dots
of light which seemed to focus themselves upon his
consciousness. He stopped for another glance.
"That's curious,'- he thought. "I must have
looked at that dragon thousands of times after
dark, but I had forgotten that its eyes were
luminous. Strange, too, for that seems a thing that
would stick in a youngster's mind. Odd that those
old craftsmen knew how to produce an effect like
the radium of to-day."
A little later, Elizabeth, leaving the now sleeping
Billy, heard the creak of cordage from the direction
of the harbor. Crossing the hall to her father's
room, she saw the Whitewing silently slipping out
into the sunrise sea.
IN WHICH AMORY BREAKS A GLASS SHADE
WHEN Mr. Emerson returned from his trip
to New York lie found Billy still wMte
and subdued from his racking experi-
ence, and Elizabeth yet feeling the effect of the
" It was mighty lucky you could get Dr. Russell,"
he observed. " Billy, you young idiot, didn't you
know better than to eat all that truck at one
" I know better now," acknowledged Billy. '^ Dr.
Russell is a brick, Dad. Let's have him always in-
stead of that porcupine of an Utter."
" I don't see why Dr. Utter deserves that epi-
thet," began his father, but stopped at Elizabeth's
laugh. Billy had precisely hit off the pompadour
with which the fussy little doctor ornamented his
" Pretty tough on you, Bess," Mr. Emerson went
on. " I think I'll call on that young man and thank
him for coming to your help when he really hasn't
put out his shingle."
"It's going out next week," volunteered Billy.
" He said the alterations in the house were done,
AMOKY BEEAKS A GLASS SHADE 135
and he might as well put it out, though he doesn't
expect to be very busy. I guess he doesn't want to
be/' Billy added, " because he said he meant to sail
and loaf all he liked until September."
The " shingle " in question went up in the shape
of a modest brass plate on the gate of Journey's
End and an equally small and inconspicuous one
on its door. Neither met with Lydia's approval.
"No one will see that sign, Amory," she an-
nounced after an inspection. "Thee should have
a large one like Dr. Morgan's, one which can be
read half a block away."
" The people who don't like my sign may go on
to Dr. Morgan," said Amory, somewhat amused,
but thinking it useless to explain that the sign in
itself was intended to sift approaching pa-
"Well, we shall see," sighed Lydia. "Amory,
will thee kindly come into the east parlor for a
moment? I would like thee to lift from the mantel
that glass case which stands over the dragon. I
want to dust it."
Amory complied. He had not been into the room
since that early morning when he and Aunt Eunice
spoke of the rugs. He carefully lifted the glass
bell from above the beautifully carved ivory-
monster and waited while Lydia dusted both with
136 JOUKNEY'S END
" Thee may replace the bell now/^ said Lydia,
giving the dragon a last touch.
Amory lifted the fragile glass, raised it above
the figure and to his amazement and mortification
dropped it on the hearthstone where it broke into
"I could have done as well as that myself,
Amory," said Lydia dryly. "Don't touch the
pieces ; thee will cut thyself. There, thee's already
" Confound it ! " said Amory under his breath.
" Thee'd better go seek a disinfectant," said
Lydia. " I will fetch a brush and pan."
" I know enough to do that," said Amory curtly,
and then, in his office took himself to task. It was
not a large room, but attractive and fitted with
every appliance and convenience he could need.
Mrs. Russell had insisted upon his using some of
the fine rugs his uncle had collected with such
Amory attended to his cut finger and recovered
his serenity during the process. "What is the
matter with me? " he asked himself. " I can't ex-
pect Lydia to consider me as anything but the boy
she helped bring up, and why should I be irritated
by it? "
Having fastened the tiny bandage, he strolled
into the room designed for his patients. Here, too.
AMOEY BEEAKS A GLASS SHADE 137
Mrs. EusselFs loving hand had been at work, and
her unerring good taste showed in every article of
furniture, in the simple muslin draperies and in the
shimmery blue portieres exactly harmonizing
with the rugs on the polished floors. There were
books and magazines as well as a wonderful strip
of Chinese embroidery like a living flame on the
gray wall. It was precisely the kind of interior
that an intending patient, following the modest
brass plate, might expect to find. Amory gave it
an approving glance. The morrow would find him
keeping his first office hours in Freeport.
" Is there another glass bell like the one in the
east parlor? " he asked his aunt as he joined her
in the sitting-room where a cheerful fire relieved
the gloominess of a wet evening. " I lifted it off
for Lydia to dust the dragon and managed to break
"I do not think there is," replied Mrs. Eussell
reflectively. " In an upper room is one which pro-
tects a fine French clock, but it is of an entirely
different shape. I doubt whether that bell can
easily be replaced, especially since the war. But
it is of no consequence, Amory, for the dragon can
go in some glass-fronted cabinet, and a less fragile
article be placed where it stands."
" I'm not usually such a butter-fingers," observed
her nephew, settling into a big wicker chair.
138 JOUKNEY'S END
" Tliee is not indeed. Even as a little boy thy
hands were deft and sure. Did thee not care for
that entertaiQnient Mrs. Selby gives to-night for her
young people? Thee vras invited, I know."
" I didn't feel like going, Aunt Eunice."
" Elizabeth seemed to anticipate great pleasure.
She telephoned me that she should wear a rose-
colored frock, but because of the storm, could not
show herself as she sometimes does. Thee mustn't
deny thyself any youthful pleasure thee cares for,
Amory. I have spent many evenings alone and can
do so still."
" I have been out a good deal, thee knows, but
somehow the young people are younger than they
used to be," said Amory, laughing a little. *^ Life
seems more serious to me."
" Thee has been through much that has of neces-
sity made thee realize that," said his aunt, looking
at him lovingly. "And of course Freeport is
changing. There are many people here especially
during the summer whom I know only by name.
But thee has received many invitations since thy
" More than I care to accept," said Amory, and
relapsed into silence. Even had he not been a
Kussell of old Freeport where the Kussell name
held high honor, any door would have been open
to so handsome and desirable a youth. The newly-
AMOKY BREAKS A GLASS SHADE 139
arrived summer aristocracy hastened to include
Mm in every festivity. Invitations poured upon
him and the fact that he accepted few, and those
chiefly from the families whom he had always
known, made his presence a sort of triumph for any
hostess. Of course, Mrs. Russell herself never went
to formal entertainments of any kind, had not done
so since her husband's death, but young Dr. Russell
was under no such obligation and yet showed him-
self almost indifferently exclusive in his accept-
Mrs. Jardine had even resorted to the telephone
in her exasperation on receiving a courteous re-
fusal to an elaborate dinner at which Doris Jardine
was expected to make a serious impression. She
was prepared to expostulate, to bear down any
excuse which a young man pressed to a corner over
a wire could make, but Mrs. Jardine was silenced
when a pleasant voice politely informed her that
he was dining with the Averys, in a manner of such
finality that she expressed regret and hung up the
receiver without having pinned him down to a defi-
nite date, as she firmly intended to do. That any
one could prefer a dinner with the Averys to one
with her was more than Mrs. Jardine could com-
prehend. True, they were of the old blue-blooded
Friends of Freeport, but there were no young peo-
ple in the family now that Miriam was married and
140 JOURNEY'S END
Putnam was dead, and no inducement, at least
from Mrs. Jardine's point of view. For the time
being she acknowledged herself worsted but re-
solved that as soon as Dr. Russell announced him-
self ready for practice Doris should consult him
about her delicate digestion.
"Thee seems tired to-night, Amory," said his
aunt after a pause. " I think thee feels a little
strain now that thee is about to begin work in
Freeport. That is but natural. Thee has seen so
many sick people already that it will not be hard
when the time comes."
" I don't dread it in the least and I hope nothing
will come up that I cannot handle. I was merely
wondering whether any difficulty will arise be-
cause it is my native town. While some may come
to me just because of that, others will think a Free-
port boy can't possibly be as skilful as an outsider.
Thee knows all my patients up to this time have
" I can understand that it may be easier to pre-
scribe when thee has no personal connection with
thy patient, but I think many will come to thee
purely because thee is Amory Russell."
" What I should like to do," said Amory, gazing
thoughtfully into the fire, " not at once of course,
but eventually, is to specialize with children. I
always got on with the kids in the hospitals and
AMORY BREAKS A GLASS SHADE 141
they are so patient and so appreciative and loving,
that they appeal to me quite as much as the grown
people. I couldn't help growing fond of some of
the little things in the orthopedic ward, tiny chaps
with hip disease and tubercular spines. Work with
them is so worth while."
" And why should thee not? " asked his aunt, lay-
ing down her sewing to look at him. " That seems
to me a beautiful purpose. To relieve the suffering
of the little ones is certainly a Christ-like ambi-
Amory made no reply, but his face grew less
weary and became merely serious. Presently he
rose and went to one of the bookcases.
" Does thee feel like reading aloud, Aunt
Eunice? " he asked as he returned with a volume
in a shabby leather binding. " Will thee read me
Guinevere? I shall sit on the rug with my head
against thy knee and it will be as though a dozen
years were taken from my age."
" I remember how thee used to like that poem
and it seemed to me odd, for there were others of
the Idylls I would have thought to hold more ap-
peal for a boy. Certainly I will read it, Amory;
bring thy cushion and sit as thee chooses. It is
curious, but during thy absence Elizabeth took a
fancy that I should read to her and recalling how
thee liked to hear me, I yielded."
142 JOUKNEY'S END
" Wliat did thee read? " asked Amory with some
" It chanced that I was reading for my own edi-
fication the Trojan Women of Euripides. I had
not read it for years and I cannot tell thee, Amory,
what an impression that re-reading produced upon
me. There, in grand and poignant language dating
long before Christ, were line upon line on the
wrongs and sorrows of war that depicted absolutely
the sufferings of modern France and Belgium. It
is true that the great literature of the world is that
which holds a universal appeal, and perhaps with-
out it, no work can endure. I read the Trojan
Women to Elizabeth and she wept as she listened.
Then, because it had stirred the deeps in us both,
we turned to more modern poetry. I suggested
the Idylls^ but Elizabeth would have none of them.
She said she hated Arthur — ^he was such a prig!
Her point of view, though unusual, seemed interest-
ing to me, for she said she could never love a man
who was too perfect to be human, and that Arthur
should have forgiven Guinevere in her great peni-
"Why, he did," said Amory wonderingly. "It
is of his forgiveness that we are going to read."
" But Elizabeth said it was not true forgiveness
when he would not even touch her lest he sully
himself, — merely held his hands above her in fare-
AMOKY BEEAKS A GLASS SHADE 143
well blessing. I believe there is something in her
criticism; Arthur might have been greater had he
been more loving and human. But we did not read
the Idylls, We read the Burial of a Queen and cer-
tain very recent poets. There, dear, is thee
The fire snapped before Amory's thoughtful eyes
and outside poured a cold summer rain, while
Eunice EusselFs musical voice breathed action into
the figures of the familiar poem. Even restless
Caroline was always willing to listen when Aunt
Eunice read aloud, and Amory's memory was stored
with lines, stanzas, whole poems learned simply
through the spell of her voice. To-night every word
fell upon his ear with healing calm, with that keen
pleasure which only the repetition of a thing dear
to one's youth can bestow. Perhaps for the first
time Amory consciously realized how wise and
good a thing his aunt had done for him when she
taught him to love the enduring beauty of fine
Guinevere drew to its close :
''Ah, my God,
"What might I not have made of thy fair world,
Had I but loved thy highest creature here ?
It was my duty to have loved the highest ;
It surely was my profit had I known :
It would have been my pleasure had I seen.
We needs must love the highest when we see it."
144 JOUKNEY'S END
A coal snapped from the fire and Amory threw
it back. His mind lingered over those words and
he lost a little until the close : " To where beyond
these voices there is peace."
Against the shuttered panes blew wind and rain
but the fire-lit room in Journey's End seemed the
personification of serenity, Aunt Eunice the very
embodiment of its spirit.
IN WHICH LYDIA MEETS WITH MISFORTUNE AND
AMORY PLANS A PICNIC
NEXT morning dawned clear and sunny,
the whole rain-washed world refreshed
and rejuvenated in crisp cool air and sky
and sea of equal blueness. Amory over his setting-
up exercises found himself planning an hour for
His toilet was yet at an early stage when he
heard a knock on his door and his aunt's voice
speaking his name.
" I'm up, Aunt Eunice," he called from the bath-
room. " Isn't it a ripping morning? "
"I want thee, Amory," said Mrs. Russell.
" Lydia has slipped on the polished floor and hurt
her wrist and hand. Come as soon as thee is pre-
sentable ; do not stop to shave nor to dress fully, for
she is in great pain."
" I'll come in one moment," Amory replied.
He found Lydia seated on the couch in the sitting-
room, her face white and her right arm laid upon
a pillow placed on her knee.
146 JOUENEY'S END
" Well, Lydia, what has thee been doing? " asked
Amory, who appeared in shirt and trousers, with
hair wet and rumpled.
"After walking on the polished iloors of Jour-
ney's End these many years, I slipped on a rug.
Thee can try thy skill at curing me."
Amory was touching the injured arm with
deft, gentle fingers. It was already badly swol-
" I have at least sprained my wrist," said Lydia
" More than that ; thee has broken thy little
At this statement Lydia's disgust knew no
" I find it hard to believe thee, Amory Russell.
If thee is merely up to thy old tricks of teasing,
thee will find me still capable of boxing thy ears."
Amory laughed at her indignation. " I don't
blame thee for suspecting me, Lydia, but thee'll
have to believe me. Tough lines for such a trivial
slip. Aunt Eunice, is there any ice? "
"Plenty, dear," said Mrs. Russell, who stood
looking anxiously on.
Lydia sat in grim ! .ence while Amory visited
the refrigerator and gave the injured wrist and
hand careful treatment.
" A simple remedy," she observed, " and yet it is
LYDIA MEETS WITH MISFORTUNE 147
lessening the pain. Thee may be right about my
finger, Amory; something is not as it was."
" It really is broken, Lydia, and I cannot set it
until the swelling is reduced. Now keep thy whole
forearm immersed in this basin while I bring a
splint and bandage."
^^ This is a pretty to-do, Eunice Russell," sighed
Lydia when her hand, in neat white folds, reposed
in a sling. " Here am I helpless, and preserving-
time upon us. Amory, this was really thy fault,
for had thee not broken the glass bell last night, I
should not have broken my finger this morning. I
recalled that the ivory dragon was left exposed to
the dust and went to shut it into a cabinet. Just
as I stepped on the rug before the mantel it slipped
under my foot and I fell. How will thee manage,
" We shaU get on somehow," said Mrs. Russell,
smoothing back the gray hair of the faithful old
servant. " Bertha will be here soon, thee knows,
and with her the girl Bell, whom I have engaged
for Amory's service. I have found the negroes ever
kind-hearted when one is in need, and they will
prove no exception. Thee must not worry, Lydia.
The only thing that conce is me is thy pain."
Lydia wiped away a tear. " How long must I
keep my arm thus? " she asked of Amory.
" Thee may not need the sling for long, but thee
148 JOUKNEY'S END
must keep thy hand in splints for perhaps three
" The jam ! " sighed Lydia, " and the peas and
cherries ready to can."
" Thee can direct Bertha and I have not lost my
skill at such arts," said Mrs. Russell soothingly.
" What must be must be," sighed Lydia, " but I
shall not stay to add to thy cares, Eunice Russell.
If I cannot be of help, at least I will not hinder,
and I will not have thee waiting on me. I can go
to my sister's."
" For many years thy hands have served me and
mine, Lydia. Do not begrudge me the slight return
of helping thee. There, Amory has brought thee
" Drink and cheer up," said Amory. " Aunt
Eunice and I can get on and thee can bet thy boots,
Lydia, that I won't let her overdo. We will take
our meals at the Freeport Inn if Bertha and Bell
both desert us. Thee, too, Lydia. As for the peas
and cherries, why can't I cook 'em and stick 'em
into jars? Thee should see me bottle germs in a
" Nevertheless I shouldn't like to let thee loose
in my kitchen," said Lydia with a suspicion of a
smile. "But I thank thee for thy help, Amory.
Eunice, breakfast was ready for serving when I
met with my accident."
LYDIA MEETS WITH MISFOKTUNE 149
Amory finished dressing and came down just as
the postman brought the early mail. Among the
letters was one from his sister which he thrust un-
opened into a pocket. Caroline's letters were liable
to be exotic both in contents and in language and
he usually read them in private before sharing with
his aunt. Yet, to do Caroline justice, when she
wrote to Mrs. Russell directly, she did so with con-
In the course of the morning, Amory read the
letter. The first part was a brief summary of en-
gagements that had occupied Caroline for a fort-
night past and then came something which her
brother read with more attention.
"We have had the most entrancing week-end
guest, Yin Luk of the Chinese Legation. Imagine
a dapper little cherub five feet tall with a face as
smooth as a baby's and slanting black eyes. His
taste in clothes was perfect and I fell in love with
him at once."
Amory's lip curled slightly but he was used to
Caroline's extravagant statements and read on.
" Yin reciprocated and we sat on the stairs dur-
ing three dances. Chinese love-making is interest-
ing, for Orientals are so subtle. Yin could give
young America points — ^he gave me some. He
speaks French better than English and we had no
dif8.culty in understanding each other.
150 JOUENEY'S END
" Sunday morning everybody was playing bridge
and I chanced to have on that jade pendant Aunt
Eunice gave me. When my little Chinaman saw it,
his eyes stuck out of his head and he became so
excited that he could only stutter. He begged
me to let him examine it.
" Well, Amory, as nearly as I could understand,
that pendant is something unique. It is as old as
creation to begin with and it appears that it was
made by a Chinese magician to subdue an evil spirit
which he had previously created. How Yin got
all this information I can't tell, but he reeled it off
glibly when he once got his breath. It seems that
it was rather a fad with the wizards of Egypt and
the orient to call up a demon and then tame it by
making an amulet to keep it under control. Quaint
diversion, n'est-ce pas? Then the old sorcerers
would pass on to their reward and leave behind
them the evil they had created, very likely without
telling anybody about the controlling charm.
" According to Yin, my amulet is one of these,
and somewhere in the world is the spirit it bosses.
I can imagine just how your lip is curling, Amory.
It's a bad habit and unbecoming as well.
" Yin got into such a state that I tried to calm
him by telling him Journey's End was full of
oriental plunder, but that sent Mm into a condition
where he could speak only Chinese. I held his hand
LYDIA MEETS WITH MISFORTUNE 151
and fanned him and finally dismissed him happy
with a letter of introduction to you. Show him
all the stuff like a dear boy; he'll probably arrive
on the heels of this letter or maybe before it. I've
told him you're not a bit like me, much better-look-
ing and not at all frivolous and that he mustn't
"How's the practice? Have you met her yet
and doesn't she part her hair in the middle? Love
to dear Aunt Eunice and don't disapprove of me
any more than you can help.
Amory read this epistle twice and Caroline's
warning about his lip was needed. Not until mid-
afternoon did he speak of the letter to his aunt,
whom he found, as usual in pleasant weather, upon
" Dear, I have been waiting anxiously," she be-
gan, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "We
have listened eagerly to the sound of the bell, and
after admitting each patient, Bell has returned to
tell me. Is thee not pleased to have six on thy first
" A good beginning, Aunt Eunice," said Amory
smiling, "very good indeed. And that does not
" Lydia has gone to her sister. I could do noth-
152 JOURNEY'S END
ing with her; she said she would not stay to be
dependent on my help and she would accept no aid
from either Bertha or Bell. Her thought was
wholly for me, but I am sorry she has gone."
" But I want to keep an eye on her hand," said
" She realized that and said she should come
daily after breakfast to direct the household mat-
ters, but she would not remain to need help about
her dressing and eating. Were thy patients in-
"Mumps," said Amory concisely; "a boy with
an infected finger which should have had attention
before; a lady with a tiny cyst to be removed from
her eyelid; a burned hand, a poor working-woman
with gall-stones and six small children; a little
chap with a twisted knee."
" The poor woman " began his aunt.
"Amory, thee must let me help those who need
" She will have to go to Boston for an operation
and I can arrange for a free bed without cost to
her. I knew thee would hope for a new field for
" I have always thought fruitful channels would
be opened to me should thee practise where I could
know of thy patients. Robert so willingly assisted
the poor and I try to do likewise. During the war
LYDIA MEETS WITH MISFOETUJSTE 163
John Howland remonstrated witli me gently, fear-
ing that I did harm by indiscriminate giving. I
was grieved when he convinced me that I had in
truth given to impostors masquerading in the name
of a good cause, so I submitted to his courteously
expressed desire that I should give no large sums
without first consulting him. Then the poor
woman will be cared for? What of the child with
the twisted knee? "
"His was the most interesting case. They are
not poor people and his weakness is curable if his
mother will do her part in corrective gymnastics
and strict obedience to orders. I hope she has back-
bone enough to do it. He was a dear little fellow
and I don't want him lame for life. I had a letter
from Caroline, Aunt Eunice. She was swamped
with company as usual, but wrote to say she had
given a letter of introduction to some young
Chinese official connected with the Legation. She
thought he would be interested in our oriental
things. Her letter was dated three days ago, so
he may turn up any time."
"He will be welcome," said Mrs. Kussell se-
renely. "I have at different times entertained a
number of Chinese gentlemen and I always found
them interesting and courteous guests. Thee is
looking longingly at the harbor and no wonder.
The afternoon is too pretty to spend on shore."
154 JOUKKEY'S END
" I know it/^ said Amory. " I want to set foot
on Clam Island again. Would tliee care to sail
so far? ''
" Not so far as that. While I enjoy the White-
loing, I tire more quickly than in the past. Why
does thee not ask Phebe to go with thee
" Phebe doesn't really like sailing ; she only
thinks she does."
" Why, she seemed most enthusiastic when thee
took her the other day/' commented Mrs. Russell,
genuinely surprised at this statement. "Her
pleasure appeared sincere."
Amory smiled to himself. Phebe had liked the
invitation and would doubtless jump at the chance
to go again, but somehow she had not fitted into his
" Phebe hasn't a light foot in a boat," he said
lazily. " She fell over the centreboard case and
became mixed in ropes at critical moments and
needed more assistance than I could well give her.
Oh, no, she was not at all seasick, not even uncom-
fortable. She thought the wind in the cordage
made a dismal wail and that jelly-fish were messy
animals and cluttered up the waves."
" Thee cannot expect every one to enjoy sailing
as thee does," said his aunt, smiling in spite of a
sudden and secret disappointment. " Thee comes
LYDIA MEETS WITH MISFOKTUISrE 165
of the old seafaring Russells and the call is in thy
" Just because I enjoy it so much I know when
others do not. Phebe may be in her element on
shore, but she does not belong in a boat."
" I remember how thee would always classify
people as ^ belonging ' or not, according as thee
found them congenial. I am sorry Phebe failed to
meet thy requirements."
" Why, does thee wish me to take her again? "
asked Amory so quickly that Mrs. Russell realized
" Not at all, dear," she replied, keeping her gaze
on her needlework. " I was merely suggesting a
companion, since I do not feel equal to so long
a sail. But perhaps thee has some one in
" I have," said her nephew promptly and yet
watching her with a quizzical smile. " The day
when I took thee and Elizabeth Emerson, she truly
enjoyed herself. She looked up at the rigging and
heard the song; her eyes widened with pleasure
when I sailed close to the wind, as I purposely did,
and she didn't squeal when the lee gunwale dipped
under. She saw how wonderful are the colors in a
school of jelly-fish and said they looked like a rain-
bow dissolved in the sea. She lifted one or two
out on the palm of her hand and looked at them
156 JOUKNEY'S EKD
thoughtfully, and when she put them back, it was
with consideration lest they be hurt by the current
and the motion of the boat. Does thee think she
would consider me very fresh if I telephone and
ask her to go to Clam with me? "
" No, dear," said Mrs. Kussell, after a pause so
slight that Amory could not have detected it had
he been watching less closely. " Elizabeth would
not think thee presuming and thee would find her a
" Thee has used the very word that means all the
difference," said Amory laughingly. " Phebe was
well enough as a companion, but not as a comrade.
Perhaps I am mistaken in Miss Emerson — I
haven't seen much of her, — ^but in every encounter
so far she has fitted into the situation, whatever it
was. I have seen her twice here in the garden,
where she seemed a part of it, and once by her
brother's bedside, where she was self-effacing and
helpful, and that afternoon on the boat. I am in-
clined to think she would like the rain drumming
on the canvas and fog creeping in like a ghost ; she
might even pass the supreme test for a child of the
sea, — ^to get thoroughly wet and horribly dirty and
ravenously hungry and yet have a glorious good
time. And I want to buy some lobsters and cook
'em on the rocks and not come home till the moon
rises. Will Elizabeth Emerson stand for all that
LYDIA MEETS WITH MISFOKTUNE 157
and does thee think it will be safe for us to do it
unchaperoned? '' he ended wickedly.
"Very safe/^ agreed his aunt unexpectedly.
"I, too, observed Elizabeth the other day and I
saw that she was more interested in thy boat than
Amory laughed in delight. " Oh, Aunt Eunice ! ''
he exclaimed. " Thee is quite right — she was.
" But this afternoon," he added to himself, " she
is going to be interested in both."
Mrs. Russell may have guessed the thought he
did not speak, but was too wise to make any com-
ment or to betray the vague uneasiness she felt.
She laid aside her sewing.
" Go telephone Elizabeth and be sure to tell her
to take a heavy wrap, for the wind is fresh. Thee
must not sup on lobsters alone ; I will bid Bertha
cut thee some sandwiches."
"Plain bread and butter, please, and some of
those fat little stuffed melon pickles with their hats
stuck on with straws."
" Mangoes, thee means? I will see whether Lydia
has any on hand."
Mrs. Russell went into the house and after a
moment Amory followed. The smile yet lingered
about his lips as he took down the telephone re-
IN WHICH AMORY AND ELIZABETH GO SAILING AND
SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS HAPPENS
CLAM ISLAND marked the farthest bound-
ary of Freeport harbor. On the side to-
ward the town two long sandy points ran
out, enclosing a sheltered inlet where a boat might
safely be left. On the seaward side the formation
was entirely different and the Atlantic rollers broke
on a rocky shore. Parties often picnicked on Clam,
but no one camped over-night, for there was no
water. Had it not been for this defect, some enter-
prising man might have secured the little island for
his summer home, since in situation it was ideal.
" I believe we can make Green Island on a single
tack," said Amory, as the Whitewing dropped her
mooring and moved seaward in stately beauty, this
time with a tender trailing behind. " Good-bye,
Aunt Eunice," he called. " Don't worry if we get
" Not that there is any danger of this wind drop-
ping," he added, as Elizabeth waved her handker-
chief to the slender gray figure on the sea-wall of
Journey's End, "but I never go sailing without
SOMETHHSTG MYSTEEIOUS HAPPElSrS 159
thinking of a scrape Tom Howland and I got into
once. Tom had an uncle who was an Episcopal
bishop, and he came to conduct a funeral here in
Freeport. He arrived the night before and in the
morning Tom and I took him sailing and we went
out beyond Clam and were becalmed."
Elizabeth was smiling sympathetically at the fun
in her companion's voice and eyes. "What hap-
pened? " she asked.
"Nothing. That was the point. We had left
the tender at the mooring and there was nothing
our ecclesiastical guest could do. He didn't ex-
actly hold Tom and me to account for his predica-
ment, but we received the impression that he had
seen all he wished of us for some time to come. Oh,
he took it pretty well on the whole, but they had to
delay the funeral. The Howlands realized what
had probably happened and sent a launch after us,
so he arrived about three-quarters of an hour late.
I fancy his cassock concealed some deficiencies of
" It must have been fun to be a boy in Freeport,"
said Elizabeth, who was feeling perfectly at home
with Dr. Russell. There was a quiet friendliness
in his manner which took everything for granted
and made it seem as though they had known each
other a long time. There was a certain direct sim-
plicity as well, a quality she had already appreci-
160 JOURNEY'S END
ated in Aunt Eunice. She liked, too, the smile that
kept flashing into his gray eyes even when his lips
were grave. She had seen him working with cheery
patience over the pain-stricken Billy; this was a
different but equally attractive phase,
" It was fun," said Amory. " I think no boy ever
had a better time than I did, growing up here with
the sea and the dunes to play with."
He had arranged the sheet and tiller to his satis-
faction and, as he spoke, glanced critically at the
" Just enough wind to make the jib count," he
commented, and then drew from his pocket his ciga-
rette case. " May I? " he asked, with a smile.
" Of course. I don't object anyway and I am sit-
ting to windward." Elizabeth spoke seriously but
smiled as he went on.
" You are remembering your impertinent remark
when we met in the garden and you knew me and
wouldn't tell me who you were. I will be imperti-
nent in return. Won't you join me? "
" No, thanks," said Elizabeth, rather stiffly.
Amory bit his lip to keep from laughing. Eliza-
beth had surely learned her lesson.
" I used to do it," she admitted frankly, " but I
shocked your Aunt Eunice once, and somehow she
cured me of wanting to smoke. Really, doesn't she
mind your doing it? "
SOMETHING MYSTEEIOUS HAPPENS 161
" No/' said Amory, liking her all the better for
this acknowledgment. " She doesn't object, but
she wouldn't like a girl to smoke. She and Uncle
Eobert were always broad-minded. They permit-
ted me to do most of the things I wanted when
I was growing up. I was allowed to go to
parties and to dances and to do practically
everything the other boys did except play cards.
Of course, I did that when I went away to school,"
he added with a twinkle. "When I was fifteen
Uncle gave me the WhitewingJ'
Amory threw one knee over the tiller while ke
lighted his cigarette.
"That smells awfully good," Elizabeth com'
mented abruptly. "I love the odor of nice to-
His eyes brimming with amusement, Amory
again proffered her his case.
" You needn't tempt me," she said, laughing. " I
promised I wouldn't."
" Then far be it from me to tempt you. I will
even throw mine overboard if you say the
" I'm not so silly. Go on — you started to tell me
about your boat."
"Oh," said Amory. "Yes — ^the Whiteuoing,
Nobody ever had more fun with a boat than Tom
and Putnam Avery and I. Perhaps you know they
162 JOURNEY'S END
didn't come back from France? It's odd, but sev-
eral times when I have been sailing alone, especially
the first time I went, and that early morning when
I sailed into the sunrise after Billy was sick, — on
both those occasions I felt so strongly that they
were with me. The sense of their presence was so
intense that it seemed as though I must see them
the next minute. And the wonderful part was that
both were so happy that they made me feel so too.
It was as though Put said in so many words:
^ Nothing ails us, brother ; joyous souls are we.' I
understood that he and Tom were radiantly alive
and still close to me in sympathy and I came back
knowing that I should never feel lonely or sad in
" That was a lovely experience," said Elizabeth
softly. "Aunt Eunice has told me how you three
grew up together."
" Yes," said Amory, and for a time was silent, a
little amazed at the sudden impulse which had led
him to make so intimate a confidence to one whom
he knew so slightly.
Elizabeth was silent also. The Whitewing was
running before a breeze which keeled her over till
the water swept her gunwale. One wave had even
slapped over and Amory eased her up a bit. Free-
port had dropped behind and they seemed alone in
a wide expanse of blue. It was too early for the
SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS HAPPENS 163
fishing-boats to be making harbor; too late for
Elizabeth sat with happy eyes watching the
waves, her hair blown forward by the following
wind. Hers was not the sort of hair which looks
untidy when it straggles, for the salt air curled it
slightly into clinging tendrils. She sat like a little
child with one foot tucked under her and the other
"Do you know. Miss Emerson," said her com-
panion after the pause, " I still feel so sure that I
met you before coming to Freeport. Did you by
any chance happen to be in Providence during June
and did you attend a Venetian carnival some
church was giving for the Red Cross? "
Elizabeth turned her head as though it had been
moved mechanically. " Then it was you ! '' she ex-
"Now you are one ahead of me," announced
Amory, "unless you mean exactly what I do,
the Last of the D'Estes and the black-draped
Her lips slightly parted, Elizabeth sat staring at
"It was you who came into the booth when
Jim Chadwick and I were having our palms
" Thinking it a public place, I entered and find-
164 JOUENEY'S END
ing two absolute strangers present I did not appre-
ciate my actual rudeness in remaining."
" You heard what the palmist said to me? " de-
" Yes," said Amory. " She gave you a pretty
good character on the whole! But did you place
any faith in the prophetic part of it? "
" Well, no. At least none of it has happened yet.
What she said about the past and about me may
have been true, but nothing seems to be doing as to
" Do you know anything about the palmist her-
" Yes. The Chadwicks knew about her. I was
staying with them at Bristol and we motored up for
that entertainment. They say she really does have
some strange power of mind-reading or something
like that. I forget her name, but her husband is
rather an important man in Providence. She isn't
a professional and she never reads palms except for
charity. I heard that lots of the things she fore-
tells do happen, and it rather dismays her. Did
she tell you anything that has come true? I didn't
hear what she said to you."
" She told me immediately that I was a doctor,
and I am puzzled to understand how she guessed.
I am quite sure there was no odor of disinfectant
from which she might have deduced it. That cer-
SOMETHING MYSTEKIOUS HAPPENS 165
tainly was a straight hit. She gave me some advice,
which I do not believe I have followed, and warned
me of an indefinite danger."
Amory hesitated. He did not know his com-
panion sufficiently well to tell her the whole of that
prophecy. At present he was satisfied to settle the
identity of the girl.
" Of course it was you," he said. " I have been
blind not to recognize you before, but evening dress
and artificial light make a difference. You wore a
blue gown trimmed with beaded embroidery and
your companion called you Eve. I noticed that
Billy used that name."
" Yes, from my initials, Elizabeth Vernon Emer-
son. My dress was blue. But how odd that was !
We were two perfect strangers and only caught a
glimpse of each other, yet it was enough to give us
both a sense of familiarity when we met again."
" In a different town, under different circum-
stances. But I wasn't sure. At first I thought it
was Phebe Ames, for her own home is in Providence
and she said she had been helping with an enter-
tainment her church had just given."
" But don't you know her well? " asked Elizabeth
" We knew each other as children, but that was
all. The other day Phebe and her grandmother
came to call on Aunt Eunice and I asked Phebe
1^6 JOURNEY'S END
about the carnival and ascertained that she had not
visited the palmist. No, she had grown out of my
recollection until we saw each other at First Day
" I have never attended a Friends' meeting," ob-
served Elizabeth. "Aunt Eunice has invited me,
but I was afraid to come."
" What is there to fear? The only danger is of
being bored because nothing happens. To be sure
there are sometimes compensations."
He laughed and told her the story of Sarah
Swain. "Had I been younger I should have let
that caterpillar alone and thereby got myself into
disgrace. Thanks to Phebe, who saw the danger,
Sarah never knew what she escaped. We have
made Green Island as I hoped on a single tack. I
shall have to come about now."
Elizabeth dived under the boom as it swung
across and presently they were moving much more
slowly on another tack, headed now for Clam.
"Why didn't you take the palmist's advice?"
she asked rather saucily. " Didn't you put any
faith in it? "
Her companion smiled but made no immediate
" Don't tell me if I have no business to know,"
said Elizabeth, noticing the pause.
" I was just wondering how to put it into words,"
SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS HAPPENS 167
began Amory, liking her for this straightforward
speech. ^^ No, I didn't have any especial faith in it.
The advice she gave me was to make no important
decision without thinking three times and consult-
ing my head as well as my heart. I have made a
very important decision, to stay in Freeport rather
than accept a hospital position. I did what I
thought right, but it was wholly the judgment of
" Because Aunt Eunice needs you? " asked Eliza-
beth. She was looking directly at him and her gaze
was as simple and clear as that of a child.
" I will tell you something no one else must know,
Miss Emerson,' ' said Amory as simply. " I do not
think Aunt Eunice has many years to live. I owe
her a great deal and it seems my duty to stay in
" Of course it is," agreed Elizabeth. Her tone
indicated that there could be no possible alterna-
tive and Amory gave her a keen glance.
Neither of them spoke for a time and Clam drew
steadily nearer. The shadows were becoming
longer and the light more level. Presently the
WMtewing headed into the little bay and Amory
dropped his anchor.
" Let us hope our anchor will not drag," he said
as he lowered the sail. " This needn't be furled, but
I will make fast the jib.
168 JOURNEY'S END
" Now for the other side of Clam/' he went on as
he pulled the tender up the beach and Elizabeth
skipped out without assistance. " There is one
crevice made purposely to boil lobsters."
Elizabeth took the basket of lunch while Amory
carried the thermos bottles and the lobsters in an
"Oh, what a wonderful place!" she sighed as
they topped the slight crest of the small island and
came out on a wide view of ocean. Several schooners
were coasting from Maine and just above the hori-
zon a line of smoke showed where a steamer lay
hull down. Elizabeth dropped the basket to raise
her arms in a sort of invocation.
" You would like the dunes," said Amory, notic-
'^Like them? I love them! I can spend whole
days on them."
"Alone?" asked Amory.
" Preferably alone ! " declared Elizabeth, looking
at him with a laugh. Her companion laughed back
and held out a hand with an engaging gesture of
" ' We be of one blood, ye and I ! ' " he quoted as
she gave him hers. "The dunes call me just as
does the sea. Sometime I will show you a part not
often visited. Now the first thing is some drift-
SOMETHING MYSTEEIOUS HAPPENS 169
Elizabetli gathered wood happily and watched
while Amory built a small fire in the cleft of two
rocks, placing above it a kettle of water. Then
they tended the fire, no small task, for like all
watched pots theirs took long to boil.
" I am expecting you to eat two lobsters," said
Amory, plunging them in.
"Are you drumming up practice? " asked Eliza-
beth merrily. " That sounds suspiciously like it."
" No, I'll warrant the digestibility of my lobsters
and Aunt Eunice has edited the rest of the
" I never ate any so delicious," admitted Eliza-
beth half an hour later when the lobsters had been
cooled in another kettle of water, cracked with
stones and eaten from their shells.
" More bread and butter? " asked Amory. " Let
me see — we are permitted both cake and cookies.
Have some more lemonade? "
" Just a little," said Elizabeth, holding out her
cup. " Do you often come here to picnic? "
" We used to come very frequently. Uncle Eob-
ert was fond of the place and he would come with
me. It is a little farther than Aunt Eunice likes,
especially now that she tires easily."
They finished their meal and Elizabeth helped
collect the lobster shells and throw them off a pro-
jecting rock into deep water. " Why, is that the
170 JOUKNEY'S END
moon? '' she exclaimed. " Wliere has the afternoon
" Where it always goes when one is having a good
time. We shall have to beat against the wind go-
ing home, so perhaps we'd better start."
On the crest of the island Elizabeth turned to
look back. Amory, a little in advance, turned also
to see her making the same gesture in farewell.
There was something so unconscious and at the
same time so appealing in the girlish figure that he
smiled in sympathy.
"Would you like to steer?" he asked when the
Whitewing was well on her first leg for Freeport.
Elizabeth accepted eagerly and under his direc-
tion sailed the boat home. She made a pretty pic-
ture with feet braced, her slender hands occupied
with sheet and tiller, hair blowing about her ear-
nest face. She was completely absorbed in her oc-
cupation, taken up with the momentous importance
of every necessary shift, requesting an explanation
for every order from her companion. At this stage
of the sail Amory could not flatter himself that she
gave him personally any thought at all.
" Good work ! " he commented briefly when she
made the mooring so cleverly that he picked it up
at the first trial. "And there is Aunt Eunice wait-
ing for us."
Mrs. Kussell came down the sea-wall steps and
SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS HAPPENS 171
crossed the beacli to meet the incoming tender.
" Did you have a nice time, children? " she asked,
" Perfectly bully ! " said Elizabeth, kissing her
impulsively. " I wish you had been with us to
enjoy it, too."
*^ I am glad to see thee back," went on MLrs. Rus-
sell. " Not that I have worried, but, Amory, I have
had such a strange experience during thy absence,
such a startling one, and I am so relieved that thee
" Why, what has happened? " asked Amory, him-
self startled by the unwonted agitation she dis-
played. " What is wrong, Aunt Eunice? "
" I do not know, Amory. Thee told me Caroline
had given a letter of introduction to a young Chi-
nese gentleman who wished to visit Journey's End.
An hour or so after thee and Elizabeth had gone he
came. Bell brought the letter to me on the terrace
and said she had shown him into the east parlor.
The letter was directed to thee, but knowing what
it was, I opened it that I might speak his name cor-
rectly when I greeted him. I delayed perhaps three
minutes in reading the letter and then I went to
the east parlor. Thee can imagine my astonish-
ment to find he was not there ! "
" Not there? " repeated her nephew. " Bell is
new to the house; had she not misnamed the
1Y2 JOURNEY'S END
" She had not, Amory, and this is what is strange.
There on a chair lay a straw hat and a cane and
gloves, but the man himself was gone. And I had
not been over three minutes."
Amory muttered something under his breath.
" Caroline ought to be careful whom she sends
here," he said aloud. " What did thee do? "
" I was startled, Amory ; I was very much start-
led. I looked into the west rooms and they were
empty. I looked into thy rooms and he was not
there. The house was absolutely still and the
strangeness of the happening struck me very for-
" I thought a moment and I was afraid that the
man might not be what Caroline supposed and that
he was in hiding somewhere in Journey's End. I
considered what to do and then I went to the gate
and asked a passing child to call to me the police-
man who patrols our district. Fortunately I had
seen him go by as I came from the garden. He
came to me at once and when I told my story he
sent for another man and together they searched
the whole house. But the Chinese was not there."
" Probably he just went away," said Amory con-
solingly, though his face was grave.
" But why should he leave his hat and cane be-
hind him? "
" I don't know. Didn't Bell see him go? ''
SOMETHING MYSTEEIOUS HAPPENS 173
" I did not wish to frighten her so I merely asked
her if she saw him leave and she said not. Bertha
had already gone, so I sent Bell into the garden lest
she encounter the of6.cers.''
"Elizabeth," said Amory suddenly, "will you
come up to the house and stay with Aunt Eunice
while I telephone the police? "
" Of course I will," said Elizabeth, hardly notic-
ing in her agitation and concern that he had spoken
to her by her given name.
" I must confess that I would not be alone just
now," said Mrs. Russell wearily.
"I wish I had been here. Aunt Eunice," said
Amory affectionately. " I would have spared thee
this. I must learn how and when that Chinese
person left Freeport. Did thee find that he had
taken anything from the house? "
"In my hasty inspection I noticed nothing
missing. He had taken not even his own prop-
Amory supported his aunt as they went up
through the garden and looked keenly at her as she
sank into an armchair in the west sitting-room
where Elizabeth took a stool at her feet. Then he
shut off the down-stairs telephone and went to the
instrument in his own room. He was gone for
some time and the two did not talk. Mrs. Russell
sat with head thrown back and eyes closed, and
174 JOURNEY'S END
Elizabeth softly stroked the transparent hand she
"Amory is long," said Mrs. Russell at last. " I
feel more composed now, Elizabeth. It is unlike
me to be troubled over a small thing, but this came
so suddenly and so strangely that it quite upset me.
And perhaps, too, I am cowardly now that Amory
is at home. During his long stay in France I was
forced to carry my own burdens and it is so sweet
and so easy now to transfer them to his willing
shoulders. Thy father will not worry over thy pro-
longed absence? ''
" He is at the club. Aunt Eunice. When I told
him I was going sailing he said he should not be
home before eleven. It is not yet ten. Have both
the maids gone? "
" That troubles me also, Elizabeth. Thee knows
that Lydia went to her sister's home because of her
injured hand. Bertha has never slept in the house
but comes each morning. I expected Bell to sleep
here, but to-night she said she had changed her
plans and wished to come daily as does Bertha.
She gave no reason only that she did not care to
stay. Do not mention this to Amory, for it is
too trivial to be brought to his attention, and in-
deed, I do not know why I permit it to trouble
" YouVe had a horrid day," said Elizabeth sym-
SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS HAPPENS 176
pathetically. " I wish we hadn't gone sailing and
left you alone. What with Lydia's accident and
all, I'm afraid you won't have a good night. Don't
you want me to come and sleep on the couch in your
" Thee is kind to think of it, Elizabeth, but I
must not indulge my foolish weakness. And, in-
deed, I can have Amory at my side in one moment,
for the dear boy has had a bell put into his room
with the connecting wire to mine. I have but to
touch a button which hangs beside my pillow and
the bell rings at the head of his bed. I shall not
hesitate to call him to me if I feel startled during
the night. There, he is coming."
Both looked up expectantly as Dr. Russell en-
tered. " I have been all over the house," he said
cheerfully, " and I have talked with the police cap-
tain. It looks as though Friend Yin simply got
cold feet over the idea of a call on strangers and
took French leave. The police think he may yet be
in Freeport, for they have ascertained that no per-
son answering his description left by train. He
may have gone by trolley or by motor-car but he is
surely not in Journey's End. Thee may rest in
peace. Aunt Eunice. And of his own accord the
captain has ordered a man to patrol this street dur-
ing the night."
" That is a comforting thought, Amory, but thy
176 JOUENEY'S END
presence is all I need for reassurance. Must thee
go, Elizabeth.? Then take her home, Amory/'
" Let me go alone,'' said Elizabeth. " It is ab-
surd to think I must have an escort just to next
door. I'd rather he wouldn't leave you, Aunt
" We will compromise," said Amory, smiling. "I
will take you to the gate of Journey's End and
watch you enter your own. Then I shall be within
call of Aunt Eunice and yet keep you in sight."
" Good-night, dear Aunt Eunice," said Elizabeth,
taking an affectionate leave. " Sleep well, and
The way to the front door lay past the east parlor
and as they passed Elizabeth glanced in. " I still
think that is a queer performance," she said.
" So do I," agreed Amory. " I have given orders
for this Yin to be looked up and located, wherever
he is. No doubt my sister sent him in all good
faith and were it not for the things he left behind
him I would believe myself what I told Aunt Eu-
nice just now, that he merely changed his mind and
went. But had he done that he would have taken
his hat. That makes me think he left in very great
haste and for some reason not at all apparent."
" Gracious ! " said Elizabeth suddenly, " what is
"Oh, just the eyes of the ivory dragon," said
SOMETHING MYSTEEIOUS HAPPENS 177
Amory. He touched the switch inside the door and
the stately room flashed into full vision. There on
its green velvet mat stood the lordly dragon and
upon a chair lay the hat, cane and gloves of the
mysteriously vanished Yin.
" I see," said Elizabeth, relieved and ashamed of
her sudden touch of nervousness. She glanced at
Amory to see him staring at the dragon with a puz-
zled expression. " What is it? " she asked.
"Nothing," said Amory, putting out the light,
but as they went down the hall he could have sworn
that on the previous evening when he removed and
broke the bell, the dragon stood with its head to-
ward the garden and the sea. Now it was facing
IN WHICH ELIZABETH MAKES A CALL AND AMORY
ASKS A FAVOR
AMORY was too concerned about Mrs. Rus-
sell's agitation to leave lier before he was
certain she would have a quiet night.
After she had gone to bed he read to her until she
actually fell asleep. For a few moments he sat
watching her quiet face and then, satisfied that the
strange experience of the afternoon had done her
no real harm, started for his own room.
A hanging light illuminated stairs and landing,
and as Amory passed, his attention was attracted
to the tall clock by the ship Iris.
" Stopped," he thought, and was passing on when
an idea occurred to him. It was unusual for that
clock to stop ; as a rule it was as steady as Time it-
self. He went down the few steps and opened the
" Of course that heathen Chinee isn't here," he
reflected as he looked into the case, " only it is the
one place I didn't look, and I have hidden here my-
self when I was a kid. From Carol's description
ELIZABETH MAKES A CALL 179
he could squeeze into a small hole. Empty, but the
clock has stopped without running down."
The heavy weights on either cord hung but half-
way from the floor of the clock-case. Amory
glanced at its face. " Stopped at four-forty-seven/'
he commented. " Just about the time Friend Yin
must have been here."
He started the pendulum and stood for a mo-
ment while it continued its rhythmic tick. Noth-
ing appeared to be wrong, and, consulting his
watch, he set the hands correctly. At that moment
came a knock on the front door.
It was a soft knock as of one who merely wishes
to attract attention rather than announce an ar-
rival. Amory went down and opened the door the
width of the chain. In the porch stood a patrol-
" Is everything all right. Dr. Russell? " he asked.
" I saw a light."
" Right, thank you. I am just going to bed."
" Rum customer, that Chinee," observed the man.
" Nobody saw him come and nobody in town seems
to have seen him leave."
" I know he isn't in the house. I have been all
over it again since the first search."
" Beats me," said the officer. " I'm going to take
a turn through your garden. I'll be in hearing, so
just shout if you want help."
180 JOURNEY'S END
Amory thanked him and went up-stairs. He was
tired and mentally disturbed and sleep was long in
coming, though come it finally did. He woke early
and immediately visited his aunt's bedside. She lay
peacefully unconscious, her breath coming regu-
larly, and Amory experienced a feeling of relief at
her improved appearance.
" Lydia must come back," he thought. " I can't
have Aunt Eunice left alone again. I'll get a
trained nurse to wait on Lydia if she won't come
under any other conditions."
While dressing he came across the letter received
from Caroline on the previous morning and re-read
it. " This is the twentieth century," he said to
himself. "Amulets and evil spirits ! What rot ! "
Breakfast was late, and while they still lingered
over the table on the terrace, Elizabeth came
through the garden, looking, in her blue linen dress,
quite in keeping with the larkspurs that bordered
" How is Aunt Eunice? " she called. "And what
is the matter with your telephone? Central said
nobody would answer, and I thought I'd better
come over at once."
" We didn't know anything was the matter," said
Amory, rising to greet her. "Well! of course!
That is my fault, and I beg your forgiveness. I for-
got to throw on the down-stairs connection and the
ELIZABETH MAKES A CALL 181
bell has been ringing behind a closed door in my
"Oh, all right!" laughed Elizabeth. "But I
was worried when I could not get one word."
" Come and kiss me, Elizabeth," said Mrs. Rus-
sell. " I am sorry thee worried. Here in the sun-
light and the garden my fears of yestereve seem
more foolish than I like to acknowledge. Dear,
will thee have some coffee? "
" No, thank you. Dad made an early start for
Boston and we breakfasted an hour ago. Very im-
polite of me to come and interrupt you. Please sit
down and finish. Dr. Russell. If you don't I shall
go straight home."
" It is odd to hear Amory addressed with such
formality," said Mrs. Russell gently. " We Friends
are accustomed to a plain name. You have seen
considerable of each other now, can you not be
Amory and Elizabeth? "
Amory gave his aunt a quick glance. Had he
been mistaken in thinking her a little unwilling
that he should ask Elizabeth to go sailing? This
certainly did not sound like it, — quite the contrary,
Elizabeth colored with embarrassment, but her
composure was at once restored by the frank and
pleasant smile with which Dr. Russell looked at
182 JOUKNEY'lS EJSTD
" Please, Elizabeth, have some grapes, if you re-
fuse coffee," he said after the slightest pause,
offering her a dainty fruit-plate. "And you
ought not to scorn this coffee just because I made
" I didn^t know you did," retorted Elizabeth.
" Oh, Lydia isn't here? "
"And Bertha has not yet come," added Mrs.
Russell. " She is due at any moment, but the
breakfast is none of my getting. Amory did it all.
I was permitted only to pick fresh flowers for the
vase on the table."
" I shall persuade Lydia to come back to-day,"
said her nephew. " I think I can arrange things
so she will. Are you going to the dance at the
Yacht Club to-night, Elizabeth? "
" I think so," replied Elizabeth, her cheeks flush-
" If Lydia is here I believe I will attend. I
haven't been there since I came home. Will you
give me two dances? "
" Yes, but if you are late in coming I may not be
able to keep them."
"Perhaps it might be safer to escort you
then, if I may. Or has some one else that priv-
" No, I shall go with Dad. If you care to come
with us, he will like to have you."
ELIZABETH MAKES A CALL 183
*' Then I will see what I can do with Lydia and
telephone you later in the morning. Thank you for
letting me butt in."
" Can I do anything for you, Aunt Eunice? ''
asked Elizabeth. " I ought to go home and talk
with the cook. I'm a wretched housekeeper, I fear.
Margaret comes up and asks me what I want for
dinner and if I suggest anything, she has some pon-
derous reason why it isn't practicable, and it al-
ways ends by her having exactly what she had de-
cided to have when she came to me. Oh, Aunt
Eunice, what a lovely little watch ! I haven't seen
"Amory brought it to me from Paris. I have
worn it, but perhaps my sleeve has concealed it
from thee. I never thought I should wear a wrist-
watch, and indeed I never before saw one I cared to
possess. But this is so very small and so entirely
simple and plain that it does not seem showy and
conspicuous like a gold one. They are pretty and
suitable for young girls like thee, Elizabeth, but
would be only a vanity for me. This, with its pale
color, whiter even than silver, appeals to me. It is
of a metal which I do not know, which Amory says
is platinum. Somehow it seems suited to my sim-
Elizabeth looked at the young doctor, straight
into eyes brimming with laughter. " She hasn't an
184 JOUKNEY'S END
idea," thought Elizabeth, " that it cost three times
as much as a gold one ! "
"Don't tell her," said the laughing eyes, and
Elizabeth smiled back. Their affectionate amuse-
ment over Mrs. Russell's unworldly enjoyment of
that expensive little watch forged a bond of interest
"It's a beauty, Aunt Eunice," said Elizabeth
earnestly. "I've seen platinum watches before
but they were very elaborately ornamented, not so
pretty for you as this plain one."
" Amory said he could not find one that suited
him, so had this made to order. I feel as though
it was not inappropriate for my use. No, dear, I
do not think of anything thee can do for me, but thy
company is ever welcome. Ah, there is Lydia. Ex-
cuse me, children."
"Thanks for not giving me away," laughed
Amory as his aunt went into the house. " If she
had any idea of the real value of that timepiece,
she would not wear it."
" It exactly suits her. I love platinum jewelry
but I never expect to have any. I'm the third girl,
you see, so there are two others besides Mother who
come first, and Dad says he can't look like three
million on thirty cents. It was clever of you to
realize that perfectly plain platinum would look
like Aunt Eunice,"
ELIZABETH MAKES A CALL 185
"I didn't see anything in the Paris shops that
she would wear, all I could find was some fine
handkerchiefs, and I wanted something else. One
day I saw a lot of wrist-watches and it came to me
that the color of platinum was right for her if I
could get one that wasn't elaborately carved and
set with diamonds. So I had a heart-to-heart talk
with the jeweler. He caught my idea exactly and
took a lot of trouble over it. He assured me that
Madame, ma tante, could not fail to approve, and
she did. It amuses me unspeakably that she
thinks a platinum watch less of a vanity than a
"I am afraid you like to tease," commented
Elizabeth. "But was everything all right this
"Perfectly. And when I see you this evening
I may have further news to report about Yin Luk.
Sometime to-day I should hear from my request to
Mrs. Russell came back and Elizabeth took leave.
Amory went with her through the garden as far as
the sea-wall. Their talk was trivial, about the
larkspurs and the Whitewing and their picnic the
previous evening and of a strange yacht anchored
in the harbor, but as Elizabeth went up to her own
home, she was conscious of an unusual feeling of
186 JOURNEY'S END
" It is too good to last/' she said to herself. *^ It
won't last, of course ; it is just because Aunt Eunice
likes me and he is nice for that reason, but I am
going to enjoy it, and anyway, it will be a pleasant
memory. And I shall not write one word of it to
All day Elizabeth went about with a happy face
and when dinner was served, sat opposite her father
with a sort of gentle radiance that attracted his
attention, though she was less talkative than usual.
When they were finishing the dessert, she pro-
posed to have coffee brought to the veranda and
led the way.
" What time do you want to start for that dance,
Bess?" asked Mr. Emerson, as he settled himself
in a luxurious chair.
"Half -past eight, nine — any time, Dad. Dr.
Russell has asked if he may go with us."
Mr. Emerson glanced at her. She had spoken
with studied indifference, but he was too sensitive
to her moods not to note the undercurrent in her
"Dr. Russell, eh? I thought he was considered
unpardonably exclusive by all the old dowagers.
So he is coming over? Doesn't that let me out of
" It does not. Dad. I want you too. Dr. Russell
is the third one in this party. And you mustn't
ELIZABETH MAKES A CALL 187
think he cares about going with me, either; it just
"And it just happened that you went sailing
yesterday? How about that, Bess? "
" Dad,'' said Elizabeth frankly, " I don't care a
great deal about men, not the men who play around
with Dot and Marion. Oh, I have played with
them, too, — I admit it, — but down in the bottom
of my heart I don't really like them. Dr. Russell is
different. I had an awfully good time with him
yesterday afternoon and it was because he didn't
say or do one single thing I didn't like. And the
nice part was that I knew in the beginning that he
wouldn't, and so I didn't have to be on my guard
lest he should. He was just nice, — oh, I don't sup-
pose I can make you understand."
" I understand much more than you think, Bess,"
said Mr. Emerson reflectively.
" I hate a man who makes love the second time
he meets you. I hate a man who wants to kiss
every girl he meets and thinks he can do it. All
girls aren't like that. I think Dr. Russell could
be a real friend, one worth having. He was a fine
comrade on that picnic. We liked the same sort
of things, Dad, the sea and the dunes and all that.
It was nothing much and never will be, but I want
to enjoy it just while it lasts."
Elizabeth was sitting on the step near her
188 JOUKNEY'S END
father's chair and when she stopped talking, he
reached out and stroked her head.
" Russell seems a fine chap/' he observed. " His
father went the pace. I have been told that Charles
Russell was a very brilliant fellow but utterly with-
out any sense of responsibility. He wa.^ a man of
such great personal charm that people loved him in
spite of his faults. But I have never heard any
serious criticism of young Amory ; he seems to re-
semble his father only in good points. His Uncle
Robert, who brought him up, was one of the finest
men Freeport ever knew, and I can imagine Robert
Russell took good care to guard against inherited
tendencies in Amory. At any rate, he didn't break
loose as his father did. The only thing I have heard
against him is something I don't credit; that he is
staying here in town and giving up opportunities
which would be of great advantage to him pro-
fessionally because of his aunt's money."
"I am sure that isn't true," said Elizabeth in-
dignantly. " He as much as told me that he wanted
to go elsewhere but stayed because he felt he ought
not to leave her."
"I didn't believe it," said Mr. Emerson.
" Amory inherited enough from his own father, so
he ought not to worry. He does not strike me as
that sort of fellow at all, and he certainly appears
devoted to Mrs. Russell. Well, have a good time
ELIZABETH MAKES A CALL 189
with a pleasant playmate, Bess, only don't bum
" I'm not likely to, Dad. And any moment I'm
expecting him to act like other men, only I can't
help hoping he won't. I'll go and dress. It's the
Yacht Club, you know, so your flannels are all
IN WHICH ELIZABETH AND AMORY GO TO A DANCE
WHILE preparing for the dance, Elizabeth
smiled to herself, thinking of the com-
ments which her appearance would have
called forth from her sisters. For the first time
in months she did not arrange her hair for the
evening in an elaborate manner, but left it simply
parted and waving back to a graceful knot in the
neck. The style became her immensely, though she
seldom chose to wear it thus. But since she had
so shocked Aunt Eunice she had never visited Jour-
ney's End with other than a girlish coiffure. To-
night she felt instinctively that Amory would pre-
fer it. Elizabeth would not have been human had
she not taken especial pains with her dress, pains
to make it charming, though avoiding anything ex-
"Why, Bess," said her father, meeting her in
the lower hall, " how fine you look. Isn't that a new
A DANCE 191
" Blind bat of a daddy ! IVe had this blue thing
all winter, but I'm fond of it, so I thought I'd wear
it once more."
" Somebody looks mighty sweet," went on her
father teasingly. "I like you in blue, Bess, and
that way you've done your hair is fetching. Dr.
Russell is on the porch. I'll be ready in five min-
Elizabeth glanced through the big window to see
Amory sitting sidewise on the railing and looking
down to the sea, lighted now by the rising moon.
He was in informal evening dress, as customary for
a Yacht Club dance, and he sat very still, a charac-
teristic she had already noticed. As she came from
the house he rose to greet her.
" I meant to ask if I should bring my car and
then I thought it was ridiculous since the club-
house is only at the foot of the street."
"I'd much rather walk," said Elizabeth. "I
never thought of driving."
She sat down in one of the wicker porch chairs,
wondering if, in the glance he gave her, he appre-
ciated that she was wearing the gown of their first
" Have any more visitors vanished into thin air? "
"No," said Amory, smiling as he also took a
chair, "but the mystery of Yin Luk is somewhat
192 JOUENEY'S END
deepened by the report made to me by the polica
I telegraphed my sister and learned that Yin left
Cornwall en route for Bar Harbor. Supposedly he
was in Boston yesterday morning and came from
thjere to Freeport. The police ascertained that he
went to the Copley and that he claims not to have
left it. He arrived there last evening about seven,
wearing a hat, and his chauffeur, a Swede, declared
that they had come directly from Cornwall and had
not been near this section of the country. I asked
for Yin by long distance telephone and he informed
me most blandly that my charming sister, Mrs.
Chittick, had indeed favored him with a letter of
introduction. At this point he asked if I spoke
French and then continued more fluently in that
" He told me that the letter was stolen from him
in Hartford, by whom he has no idea, and that it
is beyond his power to conjecture who took it to
Journey's End and there presented it. Nothing
would give him greater pleasure than to inspect
the oriental curiosities of which Mrs. Chittick had
told him, but he was ' desolated ' that this was im-
possible. His chief had recalled him to Washing-
ton and he was at that moment preparing to start."
" Do you suppose that is true? " demanded Eliza-
"It was strictly true. The police verified the
A DAI^CE 193
telegram. He received it there at the Copley and
did leave within an hour ostensibly for Washing-
ton. The clerk arranged for him on the Federal
express and the chauffeur had orders to take the
car as far as New York and await further instruc-
"Well, of all queer things!" said Elizabeth
thoughtfully. " Then who left the hat and cane? "
"Who, indeed?" said Amory. "Nothing could
have been more final than Yin^s denial that he had
ever been in Freeport, nothing more polite than his
regrets over any inconvenience to us because of the
letter presented by the person who stole it. I really
don't know what to think. Even had I been able
to interview him personally I doubt whether it
would have been more satisfactory. An Oriental is
an odd customer to deal with, though I must say I
have usually found the Chinese easier to under-
stand than the Japanese."
" Nothing explains why the person who brought
the letter left so suddenly," observed Elizabeth.
" And that is the point which interests me most.
Yin may, or may not, be lying about the letter being
stolen, but in either case we are no nearer an ex-
planation of why the man who did come, and who
apparently presented the letter in all good faith,
left before seeing any of the family. Bell says he
was a foreigner, but very well-dressed. That, how-
194 JOURNEY'S END
ever, is true of any Chinese of the better class. I
don't know whether we shall ever know any more
" And did Lydia come back willingly? ''
" Well, hardly that," said Amory with a laugh.
" I laid down the law to her and threatened to en-
gage a trained nurse to stay with Aunt Eunice
unless she returned and unless she permitted Bell
to give her what help she needed. The suggestion
shocked her to the soul and she said she would re-
turn. Her hand was very much more comfortable
this morning and that reconciled her to my insist-
ence. I think Lydia didn't really believe I knew
enough to set her finger, so she is feeling more con-
fidence in my judgment. Also she was rather im-
pressed because I got breakfast without devastating
the entire kitchen.
" Lydia doesn't realize how much camping I have
done," he went on. " Mrs. Avery taught both Put-
nam and me to cook. When we were about seven-
teen we went up to New Hampshire one winter
vacation, to the Averys' camp on Big Squam. It
was only a summer cottage, not plastered nor
heated. We upset a pail of water on the kitchen
floor and it froze and we never got it wiped up.
All the time we were there that floor was glare ice
and Putnam fell down and broke seven plates.
There came a very cold snap, so we slept before the
A DANCE 196
big fireplace in the living-room and took turns to
stay awake and keep the fire going."
" Were you snow-shoeing? "
^' Yes, and skiing. We did some climbing but
we had rather a tough experience with a sudden
blizzard which came up. I broke a ski and we had
a hard time getting back to civilization. Put
wouldn't leave me and of course I was handicapped.
We finally made a farmhouse some miles from our
camp. They took us in and fed us and put us to
bed exhausted, after telling us in plain language
what fools they thought us. We agreed with them
and we never told our respective families of that
adventure. You have met the Averys, haven't
" No,'' said Elizabeth. " Aunt Eunice sometimes
speaks of them."
" They don't go out very much socially, especially
since Put went away, but you would like them.
Mrs. Avery — I always call her Aunt Ruth — is
charming, the same type as Aunt Eunice, only
younger. Here is your father."
"Hope I haven't kept you waiting," said Mr.
Emerson. "Bess, why can't that idiot in the
kitchen have hot water when I want it? "
" Did you ask her to light the heater. Dad dear? "
inquired Elizabeth calmly.
" Yes, but asking didn't seem to produce any ef-
196 JOUKNEY'S END
feet. No matter, I don't want it now. And, Bess,
I met Proctor coming home from the station and
said I'd take a hand at bridge, so if you feel the
need of a chaperon you'll know where to find
" All right, Dad. Let's start, for this is a Sat-
urday night dance and on the stroke of twelve you
must be ready with the pumpkin coach and the
Elizabeth threw a filmy scarf about her bare
throat and shoulders and took her father's arm.
Amory fell into step on the other side and at once
inquired for Billy and how he liked his camp. His
one son was a subject of which Mr. Emerson never
grew tired, and they were yet discussing Billy's
sketchy and infrequent letters when they entered
the big, somewhat bare rooms of the Yacht Club.
Its walls were hung with banners and trophies and
its excellent floor was already occupied by dancing
With a word to his daughter, Mr. Emerson van-
ished in the direction of the card-room. Elizabeth
chose to keep her thin scarf with her but went into
the dressing-room to inspect her nose and hair. She
took her turn at the glass amid a number of chatter-
" Gracious me ! " exclaimed one with a sudden
shriek after a peep into the assembly-room. " The
A DANCE 197
Grand Mogul has arrived ! Jane Bradford, there's
Amory Kussell out there ! ''
" Who? Where? " came one exclamation after
another. " Step out of the way, Sallie. Here, let
me have a look. Who's the attraction? This is
the first time he has condescended to attend a Sat-
urday night. Did he come with anybody? "
Elizabeth, powdering her nose and then as care-
fully wiping it off, was discreetly silent, though
conscious of a beating heart. She listened without
a word to a number of frank comments on Dr. Rus-
sell's distinguished bearing and his infrequent ap-
pearances at social gatherings. Her own dress and
the arrangement of her hair came in for remark.
" It's sweet, Bess, and I love it that way, but you
look like a Quaker," said Jane, surveying with some
satisfaction her own elaborate coiffure..
" You look about sixteen in that dress," added
Lois Fletcher whose gown was quite as suitable for
her mother as for herself. " You had it last winter,
didn't you? "
"Yes," said Elizabeth sweetly. "It isn't new,
but it has pleasant associations, so I wanted to wear
She was at the door as she spoke, and half hesi-
tated. How the girls would talk and exclaim the
moment her escort joined her ! There was a crowd
of young men waiting for the girls to come out, and
198 JOUENEY'S END
among them, Clive Templeton, generally considered
There were moods when Elizabeth herself so
considered him, the moods in which she wore gar-
ments of an extreme style and drove her car with
an eye for a possible policeman. At snch times,
she did not mind Clive's proximity. As a rule he
could be kept in check and his love-making tenden-
cies nipped in the bud. Elizabeth had no real lik-
ing for him, in her better moments was unattracted
by him, but he was the only son of wealthy parents
and smiled upon by aspiring mothers, though the
fact was well-known that four different colleges
had found his pace too fast.
Clive was near the door, the last person whom
Elizabeth wished to meet this evening. But as she
hesitated, Amory detached himself from a group
and came toward her with a smile. The next mo-
ment they were circling the room.
Elizabeth was conscious of surprised faces among
the young people of both sexes, but she was also
conscious of feeling pleased. Amory danced as
only those can who have perfect control over every
muscle and nerve. He held her exactly right, as
well, with firm hand offering sufficient support, and
yet with no touch of familiarity.
Elizabeth found herself taking mental notes of
these and of other things, of the expression on Mrs.
A DANCE 199
Jardine's face as she recognized them, of the fact
that though the night was warm Amory's linen was
absolutely immaculate and his ungloved fingers not
unpleasantly moist. She talked easily and uncon-
cernedly, hoping all the time that none of the other
men would cut in.
Nobody did, though Elizabeth caught one glance
of Clive with his lower jaw absolutely dropped and
at the sight had a sudden impulse to giggle.
"Joke?" asked Amory smiling. "Who is the
young chap glowering at us? "
Elizabeth told him quite frankly.
" Oh, yes, I know. He was just a boy when I
went away but I remember some of his escapades.
We used to call him the Million Dollar Kid. Is
he a special friend of yours? "
" I know him quite well," said Elizabeth rather
unwillingly and then went on honestly. "He's
horribly fresh but sometimes he's rather fun to
play with when there isn't anybody else."
" I never thought there was any real harm in him.
It was a case of a badly spoiled child and too much
money. Hell be all right when he settles down.
You'll have to give him a dance or from his expres-
sion there will be murder done."
Elizabeth laughed and to her relief found that
the pleasant comment removed all uneasiness from
her feeling about Clive. When the music stopped
200 JOUKNEY'S END
they found themselves near him. He promptly
came up looking rather belligerent, but Amory
greeted him so cordially that to his own surprise,
Clive found himself taking the outstretched
" Oh, yes, I remember you," he said grufly.
" You're just back from France. No, I didn't get
over. I went in for aviation and got side-tracked
in Texas. Had the measles. Then they sent me to
Oklahoma and I no sooner struck that place than T
was stuck in the hospital with scarlet fever. Got
over that and fell off a motor-cycle and broke my
ankle. All I ever saw of the war was three different
" Hard luck," Amory agreed. " Was that all that
happened to you? Haven't you forgotten some-
" Sprained a shoulder playing football, but that
was in the day's work," said Clive, smiling involun-
tarily and thereby transforming his rather sullen
face in a pleasant manner. " Eve," he added, turn-
ing to Elizabeth, " I claim this dance.''
Elizabeth assented, no longer afraid that Amory
would misjudge her for dancing with Clive Temple-
ton. Amory left her with a smile and a slight bow.
" I haven't seen Eussell for years," said Clive as
he swung Elizabeth into the dance. " Did he come
with you, Eve? "
A DANCE 201
" Journey's End is next door. He walked down
with Dad and me."
" They said he did corking fine work in France,"
Clive went on. "After the armistice he was in
some town when the British prisoners began to
come through from Germany. They were in awful
shape. Kussell was the only doctor there and he
really hadn't any business to work except under
American direction and in an American hospital,
but they say he just knocked all rules and regula-
tions galley west and dug in his toes and took care
of those released prisoners and saved the situation,
— ^he and some American Y workers. It was forty-
eight hours before the British Ked Cross arrived.
He might have been court-martialed for breaking
all red tape, but he wasn't. I guess they were glad
he tackled the job. That was something worth do-
ing. I never knew him much because he was older.
He and Tom Howland and Put Avery were always
together. Must be sort of hard for Russell to come
back to Freeport when they were killed in France.
Ever see that old aunt of his? Oh, I forget, she's
a chum of yours. Some old girl, too. How about
the Country Club to-morrow afternoon? "
"I can't promise anything," said Elizabeth
cautiously. "No, Clive, let's keep this step. 1
don't feel like racketing to-night. Besides, the
Yacht Club bars it."
202 JOUKNEY'S END
" Vve looked all over the floor and there's nobody
to stop us. Let's put some pep into the place."
" No, I won't. Put your hand back where it be-
longs and hold your head up.''
" Gee, but you're cross to-night. Eve. What do
you care what they think? Two weeks ago you
were ready to go the limit."
"That Saturday isn't this," replied Elizabeth
curtly. "Either dance as I want you to or take
me over to Mrs. Thompson."
Clive looked sulky but mended his manners and
Elizabeth had no further reason for complaint.
Through the rest of the dance and others that suc-
ceeded she kept one eye alert for Amory's move-
ments. For some time he did not appear on the
floor but after a while she saw him dancing with
Phebe Ames and then with Helen Sturgis. Helen
was a quiet girl whose family had always lived in
Freeport, a girl never specially popular, but one
who invariably had a pleasant word for every one.
After that, Elizabeth saw Amory in deep conver-
sation for a long time with an elderly gentleman
whom she knew to be one of the directors of the
Yacht Club. The evening was wearing on before
he came to claim his second dance.
" I'm afraid you are finding us very frivolous,"
she said as they started. " Here I have been danc-
ing every single dance, not to count the cut-ins, and
I have seen you on the floor only twice. Are you
being exclusive or don't you know the girls? I'll
introduce you. They're all crazy to meet you.
Haven't you seen the chaperones craning their
"Which question shall I answer first? As for
being exclusive, I hope I am not snobbish, but
frankly, there are only a few girls here with whom
I care to dance. Shall I shock you if I say I don't
mind any amount of necessary undress in a sick-
room, but at a dance I prefer my partner to wear a
reasonable amount of clothes."
" Some of the costumes are pretty extreme," as-
sented Elizabeth, repressing a desire to laugh.
"And I have been out of this sort of thing so
long that I have rather lost interest. Some of
these modern dances, too, seem barbaric. But I
suspect I am prejudiced. Remember that I was
brought up by a little Quaker saint."
"And you would not exchange it for anything
else," said Elizabeth quickly.
"Indeed I would not. There have been times
in my life when the memory of Journey's End and
my Uncle Robert and the little Quaker lady have
kept me from messing things. But I think Free-
port is changing. I belonged to the Yacht Club
and danced here when I was growing up, but some-
how as I remember, we used to have just as much
204 JOURNEY'S END
fun in a simpler way. Or perhaps it is because I am
older that I like better the Whitewing and the open
sea. There is an interesting island, scarcely more
than a sand-bar, not far away where the terns breed.
Would you like to sail out some afternoon and see
their nests and their funny fuzzy chickens? "
" I'd love it," said Elizabeth. " I'd enjoy noth-
ing better. I like to dance, but I love that sort of
" And I like dancing when it is with my present
partner," said Amory with his pleasant smile.
" Shall you think me impertinent if I ask whether
this is not the blue frock of our first meeting when
we didn't know each other? "
" You are very observant," Elizabeth evaded,
though she had hoped he would notice it. " Do you
always inspect every stranger so closely? "
" It is a doctor's business to be observant. No
detail is too small to have a bearing on a case, but
I don't always take notes of people's dress. In this
case I had reason to do so. Some time when I know
you very well I will tell you why I remembered the
blue frock. Haven't they cut the music short? "
"It does seem so," sighed Elizabeth. The end
of the dance had left them near one of the doors to
the wide piazza.
" Let's come outside," suggested Amory. " The
sea is wonderful."
A DANCE 205
Elizabeth willingly agreed. She was tired and
hot from dancing and the veranda overhanging the
water, with its many chairs and broad railing,
" Have you no wrap but that thin scarf? Then
we must get out of the wind. I know where there
is a sheltered place if somebody else hasn't taken
Amory led the way to a little detached summer-
house at one corner, closed on three sides but with
the fourth open to the ocean and the moon. Just
as they reached it there was a disturbance on the
piazza and a voice called Amory's name.
"Is that you. Dr. Russell? Come quickly, will
you? Somebody in a faint here.'^
With a word of apology, Amory turned back.
Elizabeth, following, saw him enter the ball-room
where a crowd was gathered in one corner.
" Everybody stand aside, please,'' he said. " The
first thing is air — please, everybody leave this part
of the room.''
There was a general movement in response. The
next moment Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Amory
on one knee beside a slight figure in pink chiffon,
whom she recognized as Doris Jardine. Her
mother had just grasped the identity of the sufferer
and was approaching majestically from afar.
Amory and Peter Larrabee, her partner, picked
206 JOURNEY'S END
Doris up bodily and carried her out on the piazza.
" Stay behind," Peter called over his shoulder.
" Doctor's orders. Clear the decks and go on danc-
ing. This way, Mrs. Jardine."
Amory was dashing water in Doris's face when
Mrs. Jardine, portentous and anxious, arrived.
"Doris, what happened? Oh, my dear child!
How very fortunate you were here, Dr. Russell.
What should we have done without you? Doris,
look at me. Speak, dearest."
" She will be all right in a minute, Mrs. Jardine,"
said Amory, still dabbling water. " I wonder if
there aren't some salts in the ladies' room. Will
you go and see. Miss Emerson? "
Elizabeth fled hastily on her errand, convulsed
by Mrs. Jardine's tone and by the expression on
Amory's face as she saw it in the light from the
open door. As a matter of fact, Doris was already
herself and Amory knew it. He was at a loss to
understand why she feigned unconsciousness, and
when Elizabeth arrived with the salts, applied them
to Doris's daintily powdered nose in unnecessary
strength. Doris could no longer pretend and sat
up with a gasp, only to fall back against Amory's
shoulder. Elizabeth, standing in the shadow, found
herself heartily amused by the situation.
"Don't move, Doris darling," implored her
mother. " Wait till you are quite yourself. Tell
A DANCE 207
her to keep still, Dr. Russell. Wliat was the mat-
" I was too hot," said Doris sulkily. " I didn^t
feel very well, anyway. I want to go home."
"Dearest, you shall. Mr. Larrabee, won^t you
telephone for our car? "
The willing Peter departed and Doris continued
to prop herself against Amory. He gave her ade-
quate support, but his face wore a positively in-
scrutable expression. To Elizabeth, who had
learned to know it as remarkably indicative of any
passing mood, its absolute woodenness was ex-
tremely comical. She had a feeling that if Amory
should glance at her it would be with laughter in
his eyes. His voice, however, was expressive only
of concern for Doris's comfort, and he held the
smelling salts in a truly sympathetic manner during
the few moments before the motor arrived. Eliza-
beth offered to obtain Doris's wrap from the maid,
an offer which Mrs. Jardine accepted, though with
a sharp glance seeming to indicate distrust as to
why she should suddenly concern herself to be
" How sweet Bess Emerson looks to-night," she
observed blandly as Elizabeth departed on her er-
rand. "And she and young Templeton have not
made themselves conspicuous as is usually the case.
At a recent dance their behavior was such that one
208 JOURNEY'S END
of the club directors had to take Clive aside and tell
him it must be stopped. But Bess has really con-
ducted herself like a lady to-night. It is such a
pity she has that inclination to be fast. One re-
grets it in so young a girl."
" I like Bess," said Doris bluntly. " She is no
worse than lots of the girls, Mother."
Amory paid no apparent attention to either re-
mark and Mrs. Jar dine changed the subject. When
Elizabeth arrived with the rose-colored evening
cape, she had evidently been trying to pin Amory
down to a dinner date.
" I am really unable to say from day to day what
I can do, Mrs. Jardine," he was explaining. " Even
to-night I was uncertain whether it would be pos-
sible for me to leave. I can make positively no
engagements in advance. Now, Miss Jardine, if
you will let me put this cape around you. Take my
arm to the car."
" It would relieve me so much to have you go
home with us. Dr. Russell," persisted Mrs. Jardine.
" I will put Doris to bed immediately and then if
you would just take a look at her, perhaps give her
something to make her sleep."
Elizabeth was trying not to laugh and Doris saw.
" Mother, donH/^ she said pettishly. " To faint in
a hot room isn't necessarily fatal. It's ridiculous to
drag Dr. Russell away from the dance. He needn't
even take me to the car ; Peter will do that. If you
find when I get home that I'm dying or coming to
pieces somehow, that will be time enough to send
for a doctor. Thank you, and good-night."
" But Peter isn't a doctor " began Mrs. Jar-
" Come on. Mother ! " commanded Doris crossly,
snatching Peter's arm.
"Well " said Mrs. Jardine helplessly, and
then she followed, after effusive thanks to Amory
and a very stiff bow in Elizabeth's direction.
Amory opened the door for her courteously and
stood for a second looking after the party. Then
he turned to Elizabeth and the face recently so im-
passive was now that of a mischievous boy.
"I didn't dare look at you," he said merrily,
^^ Madame, la mere, who is she, anyway? I only
know they are newcomers to Freeport."
"Mr. Jardine is in oil, not broking, but some-
thing to do with the Standard Oil Company. Doris
really is a nice child, but Mrs. Jardine, — ^well — she
isn't like Aunt Eunice."
" I should say not ! " Amory shook his head
gravely and then looked at his watch. " Is it at
midnight that the pumpkin coach is due? "
Elizabeth leaned over to look at the dial. " Ten
minutes after eleven. Personally I don't care to
stay any longer. I think I'll rout Dad out. Prob-
210 JOURNEY'S END
ably he's losing money and lie can't afford
" I have a better plan. Let's have this dance just
beginning and then tell Mr. Emerson that we are
going to walk on the beach for fifteen or twenty
minutes and that I will take you home."
" Great idea," assented Elizabeth. It was with
a happy face she leaned over her father's shoulder
in the card-room.
"What's that, Bess? Oh, all right, go ahead.
I'm having too good luck to leave. Have you had
a pleasant evening? "
" The best ever," said Elizabeth softly, and then
she left him, rejoicing inwardly that there were no
patronesses to take leave of. All she and Amory
had to do was to depart by one of the doors opening
on the porch and from there follow the steps to the
The moon was almost full and the sea lay as
though calmed by its radiance. An unusually low
tide left bare a wide strip of sand, twice as broad
as was ordinarily the case.
" Your dancing slippers ! " said Amory suddenly.
" I had forgotten that it might be difficult to walk
in them. I have seen you wear only nice, sensible
"I wouldn't want to walk far in these," said
Elizabeth quietly, "but we must stay out only
A DANCE 211
a few moments. When," she added, "will you
know me well enough to tell me why you remem-
bered my blue dress, though at the time I was a
" I remembered it because I had reason to think
we might not remain strangers," he said teasingly.
" That is mean of me, — isn't it, — just to make you
wonder more? For I don't intend to tell you just
yet. First we must visit the terns and have our
picnic on the dunes. And then I will see about
" Does Aunt Eunice know? "
" She does not," replied Amory, laughing out-
right. " You will learn nothing by questioning her.
My conscience condemns me whenever I try to tease
Aunt Eunice, so you mustn't mind my experiment-
ing on you. By the way. Aunt Eunice told me to
ask if you would not like to come to First Day
" I'd like to, but I'm afraid I shouldn't fit in."
" You will. And I think you will find it a peace-
ful experience. Come up through the garden about
ten and I'll let you in by one of the west windows
in the sitting-room. You can sit there in the alcove
and see hardly any one unless you choose."
"Well — ^perhaps," said Elizabeth. "Here we
are at my wall. I ought to go in now."
" Thank you for letting me go with you," said
212 JOURNEY'S END
Amory, as they reached the house. "May I go
"That depends on how much you tease," said
Elizabeth saucily from the piazza. " Good-night."
"Oh, but there should be another word after
that. My name begins with A."
Elizabeth laughed. The moonlight did not be-
tray her pretty blush, only the graceful gesture
with which she turned away. "Amory, then," she
"Good-night, Elizabeth," he responded. "Aunt
Eunice and I will look for you in the morning."
IN WHICH MR. EMERSON SLEEPS LATE AND HIS
DAUGHTER RECEIVES A MESSAGE
ELIZABETH was long in sleeping that night,
for her mind was too full of happy thoughts
to permit oblivion. It was becoming plain
that Amory really liked her company, was seeking
it for his own satisfaction, not merely out of cour-
tesy for his aunt's young friend. Certainly, in a
very nice maimer, he had given her to understand
that he wanted to see more of her and know her
The side of her nature which responded to Mrs.
Russell and shrank from Clive's influence recog-
nized this fact, and all that was sweet and womanly
in her character rose in answer to it. She was
unspeakably thankful she could have this little time
alone at home, could enjoy the lovely thing which
seemed coming into her life, unspoiled by comments
from mother and sisters. It might never be any-
thing more than a pleasant comradeship for a sum-
mer, but she wanted to keep even that for herself
She heard her father come in long after midnight
214 JOUKISrEY'S END
while she yet lay watching the moonlight on the
floor. Later she fell into a light doze, from which
she awoke with the impression that there were steps
in the hall and a voice at the telephone. The im-
pression was not strong enough to induce her to
investigate and she presently concluded she had
been dreaming. The next she knew it was broad
daylight and but for a sea breeze would have been
Mr. Emerson usually slept late on Sunday and
Elizabeth did not intend to disturb him. They
were not a church-going family, unless for some
especial reason. Mr. Emerson never went, though
he contributed generously to All Saints, the Free-
port church to which the Emersons nominally be-
longed. The three girls had been confirmed at
boarding-school as being the proper thing for well-
brought-up young ladies, but to none of them had
it meant anything in particular. Elizabeth, in-
deed, frankly refused to join the class until over-
come by the combined influence of her mother and
the school principal, both of whom were openly
horrified. Elizabeth gave in, though she sulked
over the necessity and always balked when Mrs.
Emerson desired her to do any church work. Yet
there were times when, having ascertained that
none of the others were going to attend service,
Elizabeth would arrive a little late and steal
MR. EMERSON SLEEPS LATE 215
quietly into a pew at the rear of tlie church, ignor-
ing the conspicuous one in the centre aisle which
her family rented. Sometimes she found what she
went for ; oftener, she did not.
To-day she asked the cook to give her breakfast
on the porch and ate with a book propped against
the cream pitcher. Her mind was not on its pages,
for she was trying to decide whether to accept Mrs.
Russell's invitation. Had the others been at home
nothing could have induced her to do so, but it was
not probable that her father would even get up
She felt decided curiosity as to the natur*^ of
this First Day meeting. Judging from the Friends
she had met, they had something in their lives
which added poise and calm, and a great inward
peace, to which she was a stranger. And if she
went she would see Amory again ; perhaps he might
sit near her.
The scale finally dipped in favor of going.
Elizabeth surveyed her white dress, concluded that
it was perfectly suitable and appropriate and then
deliberated whether or not to wear a hat. She de-
cided to do so, but chose the simplest one she pos-
sessed, a broad-brimmed panama. She was leav-
ing her room ready to go over to Journey's End
when her father called her as she passed his open
216 joueot:y's end
" Come in for a moment, Bess. What, going to
cliurcli, dear? "
"A sort of church," admitted Elizabeth. " Mrs.
Eussell has asked me several times to come to their
Sunday morning meeting, and she sent a special
invitation for to-day, so I thought I would go. It's
all right, isn't it, Daddy? "
Mr. Emerson, lying against his pillows, surveyed
his daughter quizzically. Elizabeth was not con-
sidered so pretty as either Dorothy or Marion, but
even to others beside a partial father, her vivid
expressive face and eyes of changing color were
attractive. Bess had " style," as even critical elder
sisters admitted, and the possessor of that inde-
finable quality can dispense with more con-
ventional charms. This morning Mr. Emerson no-
ticed about her the same illusive radiance of the
"Of course it is all right, Bess. You couldn't
get into bad company in Journey's End. I won-
dered whether you woke when I telephoned there
" Why, no. Dad," said his daughter wonderingly.
"And yet I had an impression that I heard some-
thing. What happened? "
"We played till they shut the club. It must
have been after midnight when I came home and I
didn't go directly to bed. Proctor stopped and we
MR. EMERSON SLEEPS LATE 217
smoked on the porch, so it was about half -past one
when I came up to my room. I didn't put on a
light, for the moon was so bright and it was too hot
to draw the shades. As I was undressing I stood
near the window there. I don't know whether you
have noticed, but it looks into the garden of Jour-
" I know," said Elizabeth.
" I distinctly saw a man come up from the sea-
wall through the garden, taking side paths as
though he wanted to keep out of sight. At first I
thought it might be young Russell, but he
wore flannels last night and it wasn't probable
he would bother to change after coming from the
dance. Then I saw that the man was a short chap,
not nearly so tall as the doctor. It was stupid of
me not to realize at once that he had no business
there, but I didn't know how late it really was. I
went on undressing, though I did watch to see the
man come out from the shrubbery. He went up
beyond the brick terrace and then came a glimmer
of bright light as though he had turned on a flash.
I came to my senses and made for the telephone.
Central was asleep and it seemed ages before I got
the connection. Dr. Russell answered at once and
I told him what I had seen. He thanked me and
dropped the receiver. Half an hour later he called
me to say that I had probably frustrated some sort
218 JOUKNEY'S END
of burglary, for the man had been trying to jimmy
the window of a room he called the east par-
" Goodness ! " said Elizabeth. " How lucky you
" Sheer chance. Dr. Russell wondered whether
it had any connection with an odd visitor they had
a day or so ago. He told me about that. Looks
as though something was going on."
" But what can they be after? " asked Elizabeth
Mr. Emerson smiled. " Plenty in Journey's End
to attract a thief. Since I handle their insurance,
I happen to know that they carry fifty thousand on
the furniture alone, exclusive of the house itself.
I have wondered that Mrs. Russell never felt un-
easy about living alone in that big place."
"Until Dr. Russell came home the man who
cares for the furnace and the garden slept in the
house. Daddy, did you ever go to a Friends' meet-
"Once. It was impressive. They are usually
fine people, little girl, men and women of sterling
" Until I knew Mrs. Russell so well, I had always
supposed they were rather narrow," said Elizabeth,
looking thoughtfully at her father's watch lying on
a stand by his bed. " She has such high ideals and
MK. EMEKSON SLEEPS LATE 219
she lives up to them, but she is always charitable
toward other people."
" She is a wonderful woman. If I believed in
theosophy and the transmigration of souls, — ^which
I don^t, — I should say hers was a soul that had so
grown in love and beauty that it had very nearly
achieved perfection in this life."
" Dad," said Elizabeth abruptly, " what do you
believe anyhow? "
" That's too big a question to answer on a Sun-
day morning before a man is even out of bed. 1
believe that it pays to be honest and to be kind, and
to leave the world a little better than we find it —
if we can. I think that the great first principle,
call it God or whatever you will, has a plan for this
creation and that it is up to us to further His pur-
poses so far as in us lies. That won't hold water
in any church I ever heard of, Bess, but I am trying
to live up to it."
" You are the best ever," said Elizabeth, kissing
" Religion never seems to me a matter of a formal
creed but rather an attitude of mind and spirit.
In some ways, I believe the Friends come pretty
near the truth as I see it. Anything special to teU
your old daddy, dear?"
" Only a favor to ask, as usual. Please, when
you write to Bar Harbor, don't say anything about
220 JOUENEY'S END
my sailing with Dr. Eussell, or about the dance, or
to-day either. Td like just you to know for the
" Never one word will I say," replied her father
affectionately. "Just close that blind, Bess. I
think I'll turn over and take another nap."
Elizabeth adjusted the blinds, with a glance into
the garden next door, where she saw Amory stroll-
ing hatless among the larkspurs. " I wonder
whether he has come to meet me," she thought, an
inference justified by his glance at his watch.
Elizabeth went at once though she was not late.
As she entered by the sea-wall gate Amory came
" Good-morning," he said. " I hoped you would
Elizabeth smiled back as she returned the greet-
ing. "And how is Aunt Eunice?" she asked.
" Dad has just been telling me about the excitement
"Aunt Eunice knew nothing about it and I do
not intend to tell her just yet. Lydia was awak-
ened, too, and came to my room just as I answered
your father's ring. There's no doubt that some-
body tried to force a window in the east parlor and
was frightened away. Lydia, as she came from her
room to mine, put on lights which showed on that
side of the house and gave the man warning. I
ME. EMEKSON SLEEPS LATE 221
went down instantly, but lie was gone, leaving tlie
marks of Ms jimmy plainly on tlie window."
"What do you tliink lie was after?'' inquired
" I don't know. Eobbery of some kind, but com-
ing so soon after Yin's mysterious performance, I
begin to wonder what is in the air. Your father
said the man was short and small. So far the
description tallies with what we know of Yin, but
he is undoubtedly in Washington, and one could
hardly suppose a member of the Chinese Legation
to stoop to anything like this. We have never
feared burglars at Journey's End, but if this is to
go on, we may have to put in an alarm. If I knew
what was the attraction, that might help me to
form an opinion, but there is never a large amount
of money in the house and the silver is kept in a
rather formidable safe. What do you think will
happen next? "
Amory spoke as though interested in the coming
development rather than alarmed by its possible
nature. " There is Aunt Eunice," he added. " She
never comes down on First Day until time for meet-
ing, so I have not seen her yet. We ought to go in."
Mrs. Russell stood on the terrace as they came
toward her, welcoming them with a smile.
" Thee has a morning face, Elizabeth," she said
as the girl kissed her. " I trust it is morning in
222 JOUKNEY'S END
thy heart as well and that thee may receive a mes-
sage during our worship."
A very sweet expression crossed Elizabeth's
countenance but she made no audible answer. Mrs.
Russell kissed Amory.
" Thee, too, dear boy. Elizabeth, do not feel thy-
self a stranger. Thee is most welcome. All thee
has to do is to sit in silence and await the coming of
the Spirit. One brings to the silent hour the best
one has to give, and brings it in the quest of the
highest. Take her into the west room, Amory, and
let her choose her seat before the others arrive.
And then, dear, will thee go to Lydia a moment?
Her bandage has slipped and she would like it ad-
Amory took Elizabeth into the west sitting-room.
" Would you like to sit here? " he asked, indicating
a chair in the bay by the chimney. " You can see
without being seen."
" Thank you," said Elizabeth, seating herself.
" I will go to Lydia now," said Amory, dropping
into her lap a single pansy from the bunch he held.
" When I picked that one it reminded me of you."
He left her at once and Elizabeth studied the
pansy, one of odd coloring, for its centre was a
greenish brown and its edges pale blue, a beautiful
flower though most unusual. She looked at it,
wondering why he thought she resembled it.
MR. EMERSON SLEEPS LATE 223
The next moment two Friends entered the room,
seated themselves and at once became wrapped in
meditation. Elizabeth, at one side of the company
and slightly behind it, could, as Amory told her, see
without being in view herself. Directly opposite,
on the other side of the bay, stood a comfortable low
sofa, but this did not appear to be a favorite seat
with the regular habitues, for no one took it.
Elizabeth recognized some of the men as they came,
figures prominent in Freeport. She saw Phebe
Ames with an elderly lady in full Quaker garb, evi-
dently her grandmother.
Presently two people came to the sofa in the bay,
both strangers to Elizabeth, but as they seated
themselves, she thought them the most distin-
guished-looking couple she had ever seen. The
man, tall, finely built, with iron-gray hair, had
clear-cut aristocratic features and a commanding
presence. Neither he nor his wife was dressed in
the orthodox manner of the older Friends, indeed,
the lady's soft silk gown was well within the scope
of fashion and her hat met with Elizabeth's instant
approval. Yet her attire was subdued and her face
one that had known suffering. It was a beautiful
face, lovely both in expression and in feature, and
Elizabeth found herself thinking that she must
have been a rarely charming young girl.
Lydia entered, her hand in a sling, followed
224 JOURNEY'S END
shortly by Mrs. Russell, who seated herself near the
door. Amory had not appeared and Elizabeth
found herself wondering about him and a little dis-
appointed that he would not now be near her when
he did come, since he would scarcely cross the big
room to her corner. Complete silence fell.
Elizabeth had forgotten the French window
opening upon the garden, and presently Amory
came from that direction. Opening the screen-
door, he stepped into the bay by the fireplace. The
lady on the sofa looked toward him with a
Amory shut the door, sat down beside her, put
his left arm around her shoulders and kissed her
most affectionately. Then he reached a hand to-
ward her husband, who smiled and pressed it
" They must be somebody he knows very well,"
thought Elizabeth. The lady was saying a few
soft words now, her lips almost against Amory's
cheek. He shook his head as he straightened up,
gave her another look, and then, to Elizabeth's se-
cret delight and the evident indulgent amusement
of the lady herself, proceeded to unbutton and pull
off the glove on her right hand. Having done this,
he settled back in the corner of the sofa with the
hand clasped between both his own. Her husband
watched the operation thoughtfully and then gazed
MR EMEKSON SLEEPS LATE 226
into the garden. Evidently he was entirely willing
that Amory should hold his wife^s hand and, except
for that youthful performance, Amory's conduct
was irreproachable. He did not even look at Eliza-
beth, sitting directly opposite, but kept his gaze on
A long time passed. At first Elizabeth felt nerv-
ous and excited, but gradually a pronounced calm
stole upon her, a feeling of reverence and a sense of
being near something holy. There were moments
in the past when she had experienced fleeting
glimpses of the eternal mountains, known the sense
of a great Presence, but those moments had rarely
been in an orthodox place of worship. They had
come to her in the sound of organ music, in the
thunder of breaking surf, in the deep woods when
a thrush sang, sometimes when one of her wild
moods had been followed by one of repentance.
For almost the first time, she experienced it in the
company of others, and recognized it for what it
And if Elizabeth were conscious of the hovering
Spirit, she humbly felt that every one in the room
must be far more so. She tried to concentrate her
mind, to keep it on the aspirations toward good that
she so fitfully followed, and in her own way, prayed
that she might further God's work on earth, prove
an instrument ready for His use. It was an ear-
226 JOTJKNEY'S EKD
nest wisli and Elizabeth was unused to genuine
Presently she heard a voice, that of a man, asking
that in the troublous times of the country special
gifts of wisdom and understanding might be given
those upon whom was laid great responsibility and
the problems of leadership. It was an earnest plea
for the nation, that she might be kept true to high
ideals and so work out her destiny that those who
had given their lives for those ideals might not have
died in vain.
Elizabeth chanced to be looking at the hands
Amory held clasped upon his knee, and at the
words saw a sudden convulsive movement of the
one enclosed in his, saw the strong pressure that
instantly answered. Light flashed upon her imme-
diately. That lady was Putnam Avery's mother;
the fine-looking man his father.
The prayer concluded, silence again fell, broken
presently by another voice, reciting a poem Eliza-
beth had recently read in a book picked up at Jour-
ney's End. She recognized it at once as Whittier's
Eternal Goodness, As it neared the close the words
fell like a benediction.
**I know not where His islands lift
Their fronded palms in air.
I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care.''
MK. EMEKSON SLEEPS LATE 227
No one said anything more. The healing silence
fell again, unbroken till the clock struck the hour.
Then after a fitting interval the older Friends be-
gan to clasp hands and exchange greetings.
Amory picked up the glove he had spread on the
end of the sofa and said something in a low tone to
his neighbor, looking across at Elizabeth as he
spoke. Then he rose.
"Aunt Ruth, I want you to meet Elizabeth Emer-
son. This is Mrs. Avery, Elizabeth.''
Mrs. Avery turned with the same lovely smile
that greeted Amory's coming. " I am so glad to
meet you, Elizabeth. Amory has told me of your
picnic on Clam Island and I wondered when I saw
you if you were not his companion. Henry, this is
Mr. Avery greeted her cordially but favored her
with a keen inspection from under heavy gray eye-
brows. Elizabeth found herself feeling like a
" Once or twice when I have come to see Eunice
I have just missed seeing you, Elizabeth," Mrs.
Avery went on in her charming manner. " I hope
Amory has not shocked you this past hour. It was
but a reminiscence of a time when two small boys
could not be trusted to sit together and I sat be-
tween to keep the peace and each would claim a
228 JOURNEY'S END
" You know I always hold your liand when I can
do so, Aunt Ruth. I thought you came purposely
to this corner.''
Elizabeth laughed at his mischievous tone and
Mrs. Avery smiled at them both. " You probably
know how Amory loves to tease," she said affec-
tionately. "He was ever trying some new trick
when he visited us."
" Aunt Ruth always did know how to deal with
naughty boys," said Amory in the same tone. " We
had to get up early if we wanted to get ahead of
"Will you come to see me, Elizabeth?" asked
Mrs. Avery. " I make no social calls now, but you
will overlook that and come informally, as you come
to Journey's End. Amory, will you not bring her
to Hillcrest? "
" I should be very glad to, Aunt Ruth," Amory
" I would like very much to come," said Eliza-
"Amory comes and goes as he likes and any day
that you arrange with each other will suit me."
"Well?" asked Amory of Elizabeth as they
found themselves alone in the general conversation.
" Was there anything very appalling in First Day
" I thought it was sweet," said Elizabeth soberly.
MK. EMERSON SLEEPS LATE 229
"I know now what Aunt Eunice means by tlie
* Spirit.' Something doe^ come. I have read, you
know, about two or three being gathered together,
but I never truly felt it before. I did for a little
She stopped, feeling suddenly shy and uncom-
fortable, but there was only friendliness in Amory's
" I thought you would feel it," he said as gravely.
" I was sure I couldn't be mistaken. When such
a set of people as these here get together, men like
Uncle Henry and Mr. Swain and Mr. Gifford, and
women like Aunt Eunice and Aunt Ruth, — it gets
passed on, so to speak. Oh, I knew you would
belong ! "
He stopped short, leaving Elizabeth to wonder
what he meant, but she had no further opportunity
to find out, even had she wished to ask.
When she again found herself in her own
room, her father being yet invisible, she sat down
to think. Mrs. Russell had hoped that she would
receive a special message. There had been one and
Elizabeth could read it plainly now, read it in a
number of little things; in the invitation to the
meeting ; in the pansy, which was a combination of
a thunder-cloud and a sky of blue ; in Mrs. Avery's
cordiality ; in the sudden glance of her husband ; in
the mere fact that Amory had told them about the
230 JOURISTEY'S END
sail and the picnic supper. These people loved
Amory, loved him very dearly and they wanted to
know her, to see — Elizabeth told herself fiercely — if
she was good enough for him.
" I'm not," she admitted with more of sorrow
than of anger. " I'm not and I never can be like
those women he has loved all his life."
For a time Elizabeth was silent and then she
read the message a line farther. They would not
be interested to know more of her unless Amory had
shown them that he was beginning to care. And
at the very last he had said that he knew she would
Elizabeth's head went down on her window-sill.
Beyond doubt she had received her message.
IN WHICH AMOEY SAILS A RACE AND TELLS A GIRL
THAT HE LOVES HER
'* T YDIA, is tliee not doing too much for the
I , good of thy hand? ^' Mrs. Kussell inquired
a fortnight later, as she encountered the
old servant coming from the ofBLce, a dry mop under
one arm. " It is Bell's duty to keep Amory's rooms
tidy. If she is negligent, see that she does her work
again but do not do it thyself.'^
" The floor of the waiting-room did not suit me,
but now that I have been over it, I am not so sure
that Bell was negligent. I must order a new mop.
Working with this one is like trying to mop a floor
with a bald-headed man."
" Order another by all means," said Mrs. Russell
" Bell dusted thoroughly," Lydia went on, " so
the streaky floor may be laid to the mop. Amory
did not notice ; men never see dirt, and then he is
preoccupied. He told me that in Dr. Utter's
absence he is taking his patients."
" Yes," said Mrs. Russell, " that is why he has
232 JOUKNEY'S END
been so busy these two weeks past. It was a com-
pliment that Dr. Utter should ask him."
" I notice that on several afternoons he has found
time to go sailing with Elizabeth Emerson," said
Lydia, looking with a certain anxiety at Mrs. Rus-
"And is that not natural, Lydia? Both are
young and youth calls to youth."
" It is very natural," Lydia assented with a sigh.
" And thee is fond of Elizabeth and she of thee."
Lydia went into the kitchen, and Mrs. Russell
stood thoughtfully by the garden door. She knew
perfectly well what was in Lydia's mind, knew, too,
the deep and abiding affection that prompted her
It was true that Amory found time for the White-
wing even when his own patients had increased to
such an extent that his of6.ce hour was sometimes
doubled, and when occupied with Dr. Utter's prac-
tice as well. It was also true that Elizabeth came
to Journey's End as she had always done, but in-
variably at an hour when she knew Amory would
be away. She read with Mrs. Russell and worked
in the garden, always leaving before Amory was
due. When Mrs. Russell detained her, as she often
did, Elizabeth was brightly friendly, but nothing
more. Where was it to end?
For the hundredth time, Mrs. Russell asked her-
AMORY SAILS A RACE 233
self this question and found no answer. "Time
alone can show whether Amory really cares," she
thought as she turned away. " For some reasons
I wish it were Phebe, but I will give him every
opportunity to be with Elizabeth and to learn
to know her. After doing that, I can only
That very evening, Mr. Emerson came with Eliza-
beth to call and talked with Mrs. Russell while the
others discussed the boat races just beginning. In
the intervals of their conversation the older people
heard fragmentary sentences about the different
boats which had entered, and finally some remarks
about chickens which arrested Mr. Emerson's at
" Bess," he interrupted, " if you are contemplat
ing raising hens, right here is where you call it off.
I won't have a rooster in my back-yard."
"Nobody said one word about keeping hens
Dad," laughed Elizabeth. " It was the terns
Amory is going to take me out in the Whitewing to
the bar where they have their nests."
"All right then. I was merely thinking what
your mother would say if she returned from Maine
and found you had gone into the poultry business."
" I hate hens," said Elizabeth. " They are so
" How about your boat? " asked Mr. Emerson,
234 JOUEISTEY'S END
turning to Amory. " Have you never entered lier
in a club race? "
"Yes, sir, several times. The Whitewing has
won two cups. I haven't time to go in for it this
year, Mr. Emerson, and to sail a successful race in
a boat of her size, one needs an able mate. When
the Whitewing has been entered, Putnam Avery
helped sail her."
" She looks to me like a fast boat. Her lines are
" She is a Herreshoff boat, and when Uncle Rob-
ert bought her for me she showed up well at her
try-out. But that was a dozen years ago and they
have gone on making improvements ever since. It
would interest me to try her some time with the
Curlew^ Jack Howland's fin-keel. The Curlew is
the same length but ten years younger. Some day
we'll get up an unofficial race. I'll wait until Eliza-
beth has qualified as mate and then we will chal-
lenge the Curlew/^
" You are making Bess quite mad about sailing.
I don't know that I entirely approve. You won't
get a boat out of me, Bess, no matter how you
" Oh, Dad, if you only knew what fun sailing is !
You couldn't help loving it."
"You don't appreciate my forbearance in per-
mitting you to go with Dr. Russell. I wouldn't let
AMOKY SAILS A KACE 235
you if I didn't feel sure he knows what he is about,
but land-lubber that I am, even I am convinced that
he is capable of managing the Whitewing and that
you won't get drowned unless he has gone down
" I can swim," said Elizabeth. " I really swim
well, Dad, and there are so many boats about that
there is no danger."
" There is always danger," said her father sen-
tentiously, "but that is the case anywhere, in a
motor-car as well. When are you going to see the
"To-morrow afternoon," said Amory, "always
provided that I am not prevented. We meant to
go to-day but John Larrabee, Jr., fell out of an
apple-tree and broke his collar-bone. I was obliged
to leave Elizabeth in the lurch and go to the rescue
of his frantic mother. John himself was compara-
The conversation continued general and Eliza-
beth took little part. She sat with head turned
slightly from the others, looking dreamily at the
sea. When the callers left, Amory accompanied
them to the gate but did not immediately return
to his aunt on the terrace. Instead, he wandered
rather abstractedly about the garden paths.
" Amory," said Mrs. Eussell at length, " I wish
thee would come here to me."
236 JOUKKEY'S END
Her nephew instantly obeyed, with, an odd ex-
pression on his face which did not escape the ob-
servant eyes so tenderly watching him.
" Thee comes as when thee was a boy and antici-
pated a rebuke," she said with a smile. " Does thee
think thee merits one? "
Amory sat down on the step and put his head on
her knee as he often did. ^' I am not quite certain
what thee is going to say, Aunt Eunice, but if it is
a reprimand, I will take it meekly as thee taught
" Dear, I have no fault to find with thee, and I
do not know if what I wish to say is wise, but I
have had a concern about thee for some time, and
I feel impelled to speak, though whether for thy
good I am not sure. It is only this, Amory. I have
seen thy growing interest in Elizabeth and thy en-
joyment of her friendship. Thyself alone knows
what is in thy heart, but the time has come when
thee should know beyond mistake. If thee is not
certain, thee should make it a matter of immediate
decision. Thee must not hurt Elizabeth, and she
has begun to care for thee."
There was a silence. Amory did not lift his head,
but after a time he spoke. " Is thee sure of that,
" I know it beyond all doubt. I know because I
love 70U both."
AMOKY SAILS A KACE i.S7
" And how much does thee know about me? "
asked her nephew, looking up with an amused
" That thee finds Elizabeth a pleasant comrade
in the outdoor things which appeal to you both.
That thee shares similar tastes in books and flowers.
That thee is interested and strongly attracted, but
how serious is thy feeling, I do not know.*'
" Thee shall know now, dear little far-seeing
Quaker lady. Turn thy ear and I will tell thee,
even before I tell Elizabeth herself."
" I hoped thee would be pleased," he added some-
what later, when he had calmed her agitation. ^'And
thee is not disappointed because it is not Phebe? "
" Thee and Phebe have somewhat the same heri-
tage and experienced much the same training. That
in itself seemed to me something that might draw
you to each other, but, dear, I would love amy girl
thee brings me as thy promised wife. And I love
Elizabeth dearly; I have cared for her these two
years past, long before thee knew her. She has not
thy inheritance and in some ways has been greatly
handicapped by her home training, but she has very
great possibilities. Love will do much for Eliza-
beth ; she will develop nobly under its influence. I
can already see her beginning to blossom as it draws
near. I see but one danger in thy path, Amory, and
that will come from a fault in thy own nature."
338 JOUR:^rEY'S END
"What is that, Aunt Eunice? Tell me, please."
" Thee is naturally fastidious and that quality
makes thee critical. I have had occasion, not once
but many times, to bid thee consider others with
more charity. Thee must never judge Elizabeth
hastily and thee must be patient with some things
that will try thee. Thee has seen only her sweet
and lovable side, but the time will come when she
will show thee the one that likes the barbaric ear-
rings and the bad little French hat. And in that
moment, thee must remember thy own shortcom-
" 111 make a list of them and read it every
morning before breakfast," said Amory whimsi-
" Thee will do well to keep them in mind," was
the gentle rejoinder. " And do not be in haste to
speak. Elizabeth is beginning to care, but it is
somewhat against her will. I cannot tell thee ex-
actly how I know this, but there are times when
she does not mean to let herself love thee. Thee
must be cautious and not startle her into repelling
the slow growth of her affection."
" Does thee think there is any hope for me? "
asked Amory humbly.
" Every hope, dear, if thee is discreet. Thee is
not conceited, but thee cannot help knowing that
Dr. Amory Russell would be acceptable to any girl.
AMORY SAILS A RACE 239
I have noted tliy recent patients and I am quite sure
that some of them were not very ill.''
Amory shook with laughter. " To think of thy
knowing that ! OH, Aunt Eunice, what a wise little
person thee is ! ''
" Not much escapes me when it concerns the boy
of my love, but I should not have said that to thee
when I have just cautioned thee against hasty judg-
" Thee would not be the saint thee is if some-
times thee did not show a tiny trace of human
naughtiness. Some of them were not ill at all and
I had to struggle with a desire to prescribe some
harmless thing which would have given them an
hour or so of discomfort. Ipecac, for instance,
would do no real harm and would relieve my feel-
ings. But I did not.
" It seems very wonderful that Elizabeth can care
for me," he continued seriously. " It must be be-
cause she knew thee first."
" I have nothing to do with it," said his aunt
gently, "and indeed there seems nothing strange
to me that a girl should love thee. My blessing
and my hopes are with thee, Amory, and when the
time comes for thee to speak to Elizabeth, she will
listen. I think I will go to my room, dear. Joy
can bring agitation as well as sorrow and I am
240 JOUENEY'S EJSTD
The physician in Amory came at once to the
front. " I have tired thee, Aunt Eunice. Thy heart
— does thee feel anything unusual? ''
" Nothing, Amory ; I am merely fatigued. Per-
haps in about half an hour thee will come to my
room and read to me for a few minutes? "
" Ring for me when thee is ready and I will come
at once," was the instant response.
No broken bones intervened the next afternoon
to prevent the visit to the terns, nor did Elizabeth
notice the slightest change in Amory's friendly
manner. They started about four o'clock through a
blue and white world, sky, sea, puffy clouds and
Elizabeth helped raise the sails and insisted on
taking the tiller. " I must qualify," she said mer-
rily. " I would so like to see the Whitewing in a
" Well," said Amory with a look of mock horror,
" you will never make it while you do a thing like
that ! First, foremost and finally, never make the
main sheet fast ! "
" You weren't supposed to see," protested Eliza-
beth. "It was only for half a minute while I tied
this ribbon to keep my hair back."
"Let me tie the ribbon or hold the sheet but
don't do it again. That's serious, Elizabeth."
" Sorry," said Elizabeth, for his tone showed that
AMOKY SAILS A RACE 241
he meant it. " I won't do it again, Captain. Please
don't fire me for the first offence."
" Immediate discharge for the second. By
George, here's the Curlew this minute. Let's chal-
lenge her. Just toss me that megaphone."
Jack Howland and Todd Keith, drifting out into
the harbor, accepted gleefully Amory's proposal,
agreeing to sail a three-legged course, starting at
the lighthouse, from there to the whistling buoy,
around Green Island and back to the light.
"We'll have to be our own timekeepers," said
Amory, looking as much a boy as the younger two,
his hair on end in the wind. " I must see whether
my watch is like Jack's."
Having arranged this point through his mega-
phone, he turned his attention to Elizabeth and the
boat. " Ease up now toward the light. We can do
it without a tack if we keep steady. Good."
Watch in hand, he stood till the boat came ex-
actly abreast of the lighthouse landing. " Precisely
four twenty-one," he said, putting it into his pocket.
"What is Jack yelling? Oh, we are dragging a
tender and we can't well drop it. We'll have to let
that handicap stand."
Elizabeth, alert with excitement, turned over the
tiller. " You'd better take it," she said. " I shall
be sure to do something queer."
" Keep it till I put up the flying-jib. It's a bit
242 JOURNEY'S END
fresh but we must offset that tender. The White-
wing is pretty steady under both jibs."
Elizabeth had never sailed so fast before. The
little yacht tore through the waves, piling them on
either side her prow. '^ We shall ship some water/'
said Amory, after a glance at the low lying gun-
wale. " Any frills to be hurt? "
'' Clothes! '' said Elizabeth scornfully. '' I don't
mind being soaked! '^
" We are pulling away from the Curlew. I be-
lieve 111 cast the tender adrift. All we wanted it
for was the terns and we can sail round and pick it
Jack cheered this reckless proceeding and the
Whitewing, freed from the dragging skiff, bounded
forward with increased speed. Both boats were
flying before a strong wind.
The Whitewing rounded the buoy almost three
minutes ahead of her opponent and Elizabeth hailed
it as a good omen.
" We shall need the time," said Amory, " for this
leg is a different story, straight into the wind."
For the next twenty minutes their progress was
one of short tacks while the Curlew swept away
on a much longer one.
" Either the Curlew does better on a long tack or
Jack thinks he can make it up on the run home,"
Amory said in reply to Elizabeth's request for an
AMOKY SAILS A KACE 243
explanation. "He may possibly do it, but I think
he will fall just short in his calculations.''
The White wing was steadily beating up to Green
Island and Elizabeth was kept busy dodging the
boom and obeying orders. On one turn, Amory's
sweater went overboard.
" Never mind it," he said as she exclaimed in dis-
may. '^ If you go over I'll stop, but for nothing else.
That wasn't my college sweater so it doesn't mat-
Back came the Curlew in a long graceful swoop
that brought her near the Whitewing and a little
ahead, but slightly under the lee of the island. She
came up with sails shivering and progress almost
arrested. Amory jammed his boat directly into the
wind, gave the tiller a sudden twist, first to i)ort
and then to starboard, and to Elizabeth's amaze-
ment, the Whitewing leaped forward and distanced
her rival. The next second they were beyond the
point and swinging about.
Jack shouted and Elizabeth waved to him. " But
what did you do? " she demanded of Amory.
"Just a trick, like applying a spur to a horse.
Jack will have to spend at least five minutes getting
beyond the point now. Bully for the Whitewing!
Once we got her tilted nearly on her beam-ends,
with the centreboard almost out of water, but we
let her go to leeward and the old girl picked herself
244 JOUENEY'S END
up and shook herself clear and walked off like the
lady she is. Gosh ! there goes the flying- jib. Here,
take the tiller, Elizabeth, and keep her straight.''
Elizabeth braced herself, both hands holding the
boat on her course, while Amory walked out on the
bowsprit, a perilous performance, to secure and
fasten the flapping jib, with the White wing plung-
ing him knee-deep into foam. Scudding before the
wind now, her prow cut through the water like a
knife, and clouds of spray rose into the air, to de-
scend on Elizabeth like an April shower. The taut
canvas tugged at the sheet and the rigging sang a
tune of its own. Overhead drifted gulls like foam
escaped from the sea. Elizabeth sang, too, a word-
less song inaudible above the wind but one of joy
and freedom. Presently Amory came back.
" Good work ! " Elizabeth greeted him frankly.
" You are frightfully wet."
" You don't look exactly dry," said Amory laugh-
ing. " I usually wear a bathing-suit when out for
scalps, but isn't this sport? "
" You bet it is ! " said Elizabeth so impulsively
that Amory only laughed again.
Having rounded Green Island, the Curlew was
rushing after them full tilt, with Todd at the helm
while Jack tightened a stay. By this time some
of the other boats in the harbor had grasped the
fact that the two were racing. The Marie Jane
AMOKY SAILS A RACE 245
obligingly got off the course, and the Palmers^
launch picked up Aniory's abandoned tender and
was taking it toward the lighthouse. The White-
wing, still in advance, came down the home stretch
like a flying gull.
"Forty-seven minutes, eight seconds," said
Amory as they breasted the landing for the second
time. " I know Jack hasn't beaten that. Let's
sheer off and get our tender. Head her into the
wind and hold her there."
The motor boat came alongside and Brooks Pal-
mer threw over the painter. " Great style, White-
wing!" he commented as Amory thanked him.
" How-do, Miss Emerson. Didn't know whom
Amory had shipped for his crew. Some race !
"Forty-nine, thirty-two," shouted Jack as the
Curlew swept past.
" Two minutes, twenty-four seconds to the good,''
called Amory, waving his megaphone.
" I missed it beating up to the island. Try again
another day, will you, Amory? Say, the White-
wing can sail yet, can't she? "
" Let's make it the best three," assented Amory.
" That is the only fair test," he added to Elizabeth
as he made fast the tender and the yacht passed
beyond hearing of the other boats. " If the White-
wing can beat the Curlew, she can shake a sail with
246 JOUKNEY^S END
the cup defender of her class. Oh, I knew the old
girl had it in her yet ! "
"I really feel horribly excited," sighed Eliza-
"Too much so to look at the terns? There is
still time with this breeze."
" But aren't you soaked? Ought you not to go
back for dry things? "
" I am practically dry." Amory felt his trousers
as he spoke. " The sun and wind have done the
job and getting wet with salt water never hurts
any one. Let's head for the terns."
They made the sand-bank with less action by the
way, for Amory took in the flying- jib and the White-
icing sailed more steadily. The island in question
was merely a bar covered with coarse sea-grass
above bare wide beaches. Not a shrub nor a tree
broke its barren top and over it sailed countless
terns roused to anxiety by the proximity of the
Never having seen anything of the kind, Eliza-
beth did not know what to expect, but she was
amazed on landing to find that it was really diffi-
cult to avoid stepping either on the nests with their
pretty pale eggs or upon the fluffy yellowish
chickens which ran everywhere. The babies them-
selves were not afraid, being entirely unsophisti-
cated, and Amory at once picked up half a dozen,
AMOEY SAILS A KACE 247
holding them in the crook of his arm and petting
"Why, can you do that?" asked Elizabeth, im-
mediately scooping up a handful. " The darlings !
Aren't they sweet? Oh, go away," she added to the
anxious mothers, swooping close overhead and cry-
ing shrilly. " Terns aren't gulls, are they? "
" No," said Amory. " They are smaller and their
feet are bright red. Gulls always seem cruel to
me. Their eyes are wicked. These terns are more
appealing. Look at this mite."
The mite in question did not wish to be put down
but immediately ran back into Amory's hand and
" Cunning thing ! " said Elizabeth. " Could they
" I don't believe so. Put tamed a gull once that
he found on the beach with a broken wing, but I
doubt whether they could be tamed unless some-
thing happened to them first. The half -grown ones
are already afraid of us."
There was nothing else of interest on the island
and they finally left the babies and tjieir anxious
parents and started for home. The wind was fresh-
ening still more.
" You need your sweater," said Elizabeth, " Fm
afraid you will take cold."
" I almost never do ; I'm too absolutely healthy
248 JOUENEY'S END
for that," replied Amory, "but I think there is
something here I can put on."
He was rummaging in a locker as he spoke and
presently fished out a dilapidated athletic shirt.
" If that isn't exactly like a man," commented
Elizabeth as he pulled it over his head and then
struggled into the sleeves. " When a girl puts on a
sweater, she gets into the sleeves first."
" So she does," said Amory smUing, " but I have
no back hair to consider."
Elizabeth was noticing the initials on the shirt.
" T. W. H.," she read. " Is Jack Rowland the
younger brother of your friend? "
" His kid brother. He was six years younger
than Tom. Jack was a cute little chap and we
sometimes let him tag along. Do you know
" Not well. He belongs to the set just younger.
I have been told that he was rather speedy."
" I have been hearing that," said Amory thought-
fully. " I must look after Jack a bit. I was too
fond of Tom not to do what I can for his brother,
to say nothing of the fact that I owe considerable
to John, senior. From something Mr. Howland
said to me not long ago, I inferred that Jack was
worrying hitn. Later on, if Aunt Eunice is well, I
want to take a week's cruise down the coast and
I believe I'll invite Jack to go with me."
AMORY SAILS A EACE 249
" Do you sleep aboard? " asked Elizabeth half-
" Sometimes, but we usually try to make a port
where we can go ashore. Once when Tom and Put
and I were cruising, I dropped the oil-stove over-
board and for two days we lived on hardtack and
cold canned stuff. I wasn't especially popular until
we struck Boothbay and bought another stove. We
sampled the ice-cream in every place in Boothbay,
getting five-cent plates each time. Put asked one
waitress for some water and she said they didn't
serve water with five-cent orders. Put went into
hysterics and we had to soak him under a pump."
" I just envy the good times boys have ! " laughed
Elizabeth. "You can do all sorts of things and
" It seems to me the girls have almost as much
freedom in these days," commented Amory.
" Of course we have more than our mothers did.
Now we have suffrage, we shall have still more.
By the way, do you believe in votes for women? "
Elizabeth laughed as she asked the question,
which she did in a very business-like way. She
looked extremely pretty, wind-blown and spray-
bespattered as she was.
" I certainly do," said Amory promptly. " I was
taught very early the cardinal feature of the
Quaker belief that all are equal. I consider women
250 JOURNEY'S END
entitled to every privilege men have and I believe
them absolutely equal, except in the points where
they are superior."
Elizabeth hadn't expected such a sweeping con-
cession and was slightly embarrassed. " It is lucky
for you," she commented somewhat vaguely. "I
wish we had brought something to eat," she went
on with a change of subject. " I meant to bring a
cake of chocolate, but forgot it."
" We are almost home," said Amory. " Fifteen
minutes more will do it."
Less than the quarter hour found the Whitetoing
again at her mooring. Just as the tender was being
swung out on its pulley rope, the Jardines' motor
launch went by carrying a gay party. They waved
and called and Elizabeth and Amory responded.
The launch passed, but voices floated back, its occu-
pants forgetting how far and how clearly sound
travels over water.
"Amory Russell is sticking tight to his aunt's
apron-strings," said one. "He knows on which
side his bread is buttered."
"Looks as though Bess Emerson would land
him," said another. " She is out to kill."
It was impossible for the two on the beach to pre-
tend they had not heard. Amory's look was in-
scrutable but after one stunned half -moment, dur-
ing which she did not know where to turn, Eliza-
AMOKY SAILS A KACE 251
beth dropped her sweater and hid her face in her
"O/i/ " she moaned in all the pain of her outraged
" Elizabeth, come into the garden," said Amory,
picking up the sweater and taking her by the arm.
" I am going home," she answered wildly. " Let
me go ! "
Amory did not loosen his grasp. The launch was
beyond the boat-house now and he took her by both
hands. " Come," he said, gently forcing her toward
the steps of Journey's End.
"Let me go," persisted Elizabeth, but Amory
would not release his hold. He drew her into the
lilac walk and down upon the stone seat where the
lions kept guard. " Now, listen," he began.
" I won't," said Elizabeth. " I won't listen to
anything. Let me go, I tell you. Oh, how can
people be so hateful ! "
"Why, look here," said Amory, half-laughing,
yet with a note in his voice she had never heard
before, " just look here, Elizabeth. Don't give them
another thought. The casual judgment of our fel-
low-men is one of the things that matters least.
We both know that neither accusation is true, so
why let it hurt us? "
" But they are so hateful," said poor Elizabeth.
" Amory, please let me go."
252 JOUENEY'S END
" When I get ready," said Amory imperturbably.
" And why mind the hateful people when the people
who love you matter so very much more? Eliza-
beth, I want to matter most of all. Will you let
"Oh, Amory," said Elizabeth helplessly, and then
she made no further effort to release the hands he
held. He, too, was silent, caressing her brown fin-
gers with his own shapely ones.
"I never made love to a girl before," he said
after a pause. " I suppose I might do it better if I
had had previous practice, but I love you, Eliza-
Elizabeth was silent, her head turned from him.
" It's true we haven't knovn each other very
long," Amory went on, "that is, not in actual
months or years, but time doesn't count in a thing
like this. I made up my mind some time ago but
I was afraid of speaking too soon; I wanted you
to get used to me. But those idiots have made difS.-
culties for me unless we straighten things on the
spot. Consider, dear. I'm really a respectable
member of society and the people who know me
best are rather fond of me, and Aunt Eunice will
tell you I'm not very hard to live with."
"I love Aunt Eunice," said Elizabeth irrele-
" Ah ! " said Amory triumphantly, " now we are
AMORY SAILS A RACE 263
beginning to get somewhere. I love her myself and
two things that are equal to the same thing are
equal to each other ! "
At this utterly illogical deduction, Elizabeth
laughed hysterically and Amory took advantage by
sliding an arm about her.
" I do like you," she began.
"Oh, Elizabeth," protested Amory coaxingly,
" I know a word so much nicer than that. I said it
"I don^t know how to begin," Elizabeth went
" Why, don't let that worry you. I can suggest
any number of ways. Begin by saying the nice
little word and then say * Yes ' ! "
" Oh, don't be ridiculous. I'm dreadfully in ear-
nest and you must listen. I'm not at all the girl
you think I am."
"A changeling, stolen from your cradle? A
fairy's child? Your real name Kilmeny? No mat-
ter, — I love you just the same."
" Please be serious, Amory. This isn't easy.''
"Forgive me, dear. I'll listen, but when you
finish I shall probably contradict everything you
say. What is it?"
" I'm not one bit like you," Elizabeth began nerv-
ously. "Now don't tell me that's why you love
me. I only want you to realize. I haven't been
254 JOUENEY'S END
brought up as you have. I — I never get on verj'
well with my mother ; it's Billy and Dad ana i w^ho
hang together, sometimes Marion. My home never
was like Journey's End. It's always a sort of
scrabble, just a place to eat and dress in, and all the
real interests outside, more like a hotel. We girls
never had any real education, only just to be at-
tractive to men and have a good time and have it
in any sort of way, just to do what the crowd did.
I wanted to go to college and Mother would not
let me ! Of course, if I'd gone to Dad and made a
row, he'd have taken my part and I could have gone
to Vassar but I hated to drag him into it. It
wasn't until we came to Freeport and I got ac-
quainted with Aunt Eunice that I understood what
the genuine things in life are. She showed me. I
never had any ideals before, not high ones. I loved
her and I loved the way things went in Journey's
End. Over the other side of this wall, I'm a totally
different person. On this side, it is easy to be good
and to care about the beautiful things in life. On
the other side it's very hard."
" But, dear, that's just what I am asking you to
do, to come and live on this side always."
"Amory," said Elizabeth desperately, "I like
you so much that I am unwilling — no, I will not
say that word, at least, not yet, — I am afraid it isn't
fair to you. You don't know what an utterly f rivo-
AMOKY SAILS A KACE 265
lous and horrid person I can be. I have a fiendish
Amory shook his head gravely and incredulously.
" I explode," confessed Elizabeth. " Now you
never do that."
" Oh, don't I? Aunt Eunice will tell you that
she has dealt with me in various stages of ill-humor.
And it wasn't a week ago that I plain lost my tem-
per with a woman who came to consult me profes-
sionally. I am hot under the collar every time I
think of her. She wanted me to do something that
was a disgrace to her and an insult to me, and I
told her so. But I can't see what your temper has
to do with your loving me, Elizabeth. We must
only not both be angry at the same time. If we
stick to that we shall not quarrel."
Elizabeth sat silent, a very wistful expression
on her face.
" Amory," she said at length in a low tone, " I
do love you. I don't believe you know how easy
you are to love. But just because I do, I want to
be perfectly fair, and I'm awfully afraid I'm not the
girl you ought to marry."
" I'll risk that ! " said Amory triumphantly.
" Listen, ye little lions and all the blossoms on the
trumpet-vine! Take heed, oh! asters and mari-
golds ! She has said she loves me ! "
"But I didn't say you could kiss me. Stop,
256 JOUKNEY'S END
Amory, I haven't finished. B«iw T\^iU you like it
when I do something which shocks you unspeak-
ably? I'm liable to. Sometimes I get into a mood
when I don't care what I do nor what people think.
I want to shock them."
" When you feel that way, come to me and I'll
prescribe. The real Elizabeth is the one who
thrives on this side of the wall. When you are here
for keeps you won't shock me, you won't want to.
I believe I know you better than you know yourself.
Say the nice little word again."
A gleam of mischief crossed Elizabeth's face. " I
love your ears, Amory," she said, "and your
"Neither of which interests me in the least,"
came the disgusted reply.
" Your hands are beautiful," Elizabeth went on.
"Even Dad once spoke of them. And your ears
are charming because they fit so neatly and have a
cunning suggestion of a point at the top, like a
faun's. And I love the way your hair dips in a
peak in the centre of your forehead. But I suppose
you are like the man who said he was neither proud
nor particular and if he was handsome, it wasn't
" Not a bit like him. I'm both proud and par-
ticular and glad that I am not physically repellent.
That would be a serious professional handicap.
AMORY SAILS A RACE 257
Elizabeth dear, Aunt Eunice knows that I meant
to try to win you, and wished me God-speed. I
know what she thinks of you. She will welcome
my promised wife with open arms. And I will not
have you feel that the danger of a mistake is only
on my side. I have stacks of faults and you'll have
many occasions to be patient with me. It makes
me feel very unworthy to know that you really do
" It's true, only I have warned you, Amory."
"We will love each other and the consequences
may take care of themselves. And now may I kiss
you, Elizabeth? "
CHAPTEE XV ill
IN WHICH AMOBY AND ELIZABETH FOLLOW THE
HALF an hour passed before Amory and
Elizabeth came back from a country where
Time is not, and became aware that the
shadows were lengthening and dinner looming im-
" This really is not the way I expected to look
under such important circumstances," sighed Eliza-
beth, lifting a tumbled head from Amory's shoul-
der. " What with handling ropes and tern babies
and bailing the tender, my hands are black; my
dress is a sight and my shoes would never be taken
"You haven't much on me. I am not exactly
clean myself, to say nothing of Tom's old shirt and
my soaked feet."
" One reason I like you is because you are usually
so immaculate," observed Elizabeth.
" That reason doesn't exist to-day. Let us come
to Aunt Eunice."
" Amory, I am too dirty. Let me go home and
THE PEIMROSE PATH 269
get dressed in sometMng decent. I will come tMs
" Suppose I come for you after dinner and see
your father, and then we will both go to Aunt
Elizabeth assented. She had been crying, but
there was no bitterness left concerning the unkind
remarks from the launch. She was unspeakably
moved by Amory's gentleness and by a sort of
reverence in his manner and touch.
"What shall I do if your father won't let me
have you? " inquired Amory playfully. " He may
kick me down the front steps for asking such a
tremendously cheeky thing."
" I am twenty-two," said Elizabeth. " He really
has no authority over me."
"What an independent young person! I don't
feel afraid of Mr. Emerson. He has probably real-
ized that he will have to give you to somebody
some day — ^why not to me? Well, dear, we both
are shockingly dirty, and I am most unromantically
" So am I," said Elizabeth, jumping up. " Don't
come with me, Amory; there may be somebody on
the beach. Come over after dinner and see Dad."
Amory let her go alone and ran up to the house
like a boy. In the hall he met his aunt.
"Has thee had a pleasant sail?" she asked.
260 JOURNEY'S END
" But, dear, that garment thee has on — ^where did
thee resurrect it? Do give it to Bertha to be
Amory laughed. "I am too dirty for thee to
embrace, Aunt Eunice,'' he whispered. " But kiss
my lips, for they have kissed Elizabeth's ! "
" Is thee serious? So soon! But I need not ask
her answer ; I can read it in thy face. Where is the
dear child? Why did thee not bring her to me? "
" Because she is quite as dirty as I and in addi-
tion her hair is falling down. She is coming to thee
Amory delayed, making happy confidences until
Lydia came into the hall.
"Dinner is ready, Eunice Russell," she an-
" Gosh ! " said Amory and bolted up-stairs three
steps at a time. Lydia looked after him disap-
"Keep things back, Lydia," said Mrs. Russell
gently. " Amory had matters of importance to tell
me. He will dress quickly.'^
"Amory was never slow," observed Lydia. "I
give him credit for that. Thee looks pale; is thee
not well? "
" Perfectly. I was but taken i^back for a moment
by something Amory said, but it was welcome
THE PKIMKOSE PATH 261
Lydia departed, saying she would tell Bertha
not to serve the soup, and Mrs. Russell went into
the west sitting-room where hung a remarkably
lifelike painting of her husband. She stood look-
ing at it until she heard Amory come down, and
when she turned away, her eyes were full of tears.
On the other side of the brick wall, Elizabeth
washed and dressed in a sort of daze of happiness.
When she heard Mr. Emerson coming up-stairs she
caught up a kimono and intercepted him.
" Daddy," she whispered with both arms around
his neck, " after dinner Amory is coming to see you.
Please, please be very nice to him."
"Bless my soul, Bess — what do you mean?"
ejaculated her father, but Elizabeth only hugged
him and vanished without a further word. She
was almost glad that her father's partner was din-
ing with them, for she did not want to talk of a joy
which seemed larger than any words she knew.
When she came to the table, Mr. Emerson looked
at her curiously. Elizabeth had inspected her
ample wardrobe and chosen a simple white silk,
made in girlish fashion. Her hair was bound with
a narrow blue velvet band, her one touch of color.
The radiance he had already noticed was deepened,
and there was a still happiness about her which
communicated itself to him. Elizabeth was more
than pretty to-night; she was beautiful.
262 JOURNEY'S END
Yet she was very quiet and said no more than
courtesy required to Mr. Proctor, though attentive
to the comfort of both gentlemen. After pouring
coffee for them on the porch, she excused herself
and went into the house. Mr. Proctor would not
stay long ; he had announced an early engagement
and she meant Amory to find her father alone.
Presently, as she sat by the window in her room,
her mind filled with thoughts both humble and
happy, she heard their guest go and almost imme-
diately saw Amory coming from the beach, looking
so manly and handsome that her heart throbbed
with incredulous wonder that of all the girls he
might have chosen, she should be the one. A great
desire to be worthy that affection came over her.
Elizabeth put her head down on the sill, and for
the second time in her life, really prayed. She was
still sitting in the communion of thoughts too deep
for expression when a maid came to say that her
father wanted her.
Smoothing her hair she went down. When she
came quietly from the house, Amory rose and re-
mained standing but did not move in her direction.
He looked rather grave. Mr. Emerson continued
to lounge in his easy chair and paid no attention to
his daughter until she stood beside him.
'^ Did you want me. Daddy? " she asked.
Mr. Emerson gave a grunt. " This boy," he said,
THE PKIMKOSE PATH 263
waving Ms cigar vaguely in Amory's direction,
^' says lie loves you. Do you want him to? "
" Yes, please/' said Elizabeth meekly.
"Why do you want to marry him? " Mr. Emer-
son went on grumpily. " Don't you have everything
you want at home? What do you want to leave
your old dad for and go away to live? "
" Just the other side of the wall/' said Elizabeth
softly. She understood her father very well. His
gruff manner covered real emotion and the smile
she now saw in Amory's eyes showed that his re-
ception had not been ungracious.
" Might as well be the other side of the world for
all the good you'll be to me. If you were my son I
should approve of your marrying, but I'd like to
keep my daughter."
Elizabeth smiled. Holding her hands behind her
back, she bent forward to kiss her father's cheek.
"You'll not lose me, Daddy dear, and there is
another side to the story. Would you not like
Amory for your son? "
Mr. Emerson laughed. " I see it is no use," he
sighed. " If you are set on marrying, it might as
well be Dr. Kussell, but I would like to keep my
Bess. Why, you are nothing but a little girl ! "
"Mother was only nineteen when she married
you. I am three years older."
Mr. Emerson drew her within his arm. "It
264 JOUKNEY'S END
doesn't seem possible. Just a little while ago you
broke your doll and I bought you another. Well,
Amory, you may have her and I will say that I'd
far rather have you for a son-in-law than that cav-
alry major Marion thinks she loves."
" Thank you, sir," said Amory very quietly. " I
shall try to be a son to you if you will let me, and
please God, I will make Elizabeth happy."
" I believe you," said Mr. Emerson unexpectedly,
and then he blew his nose and kissed his daughter.
"Well, run away and have a good time together.
Are you going sailing? "
Elizabeth glanced at Amory's immaculate flan-
nels and at her own spotless garb. Amory did the
same and both laughed.
"We are too clean," said Elizabeth. "You
should have seen us this afternoon. Daddy, when
we came from the Whitewing, I never saw Amory
so dirty. I think we had better stay ashore."
" But we beat the Curlew/' put in Amory, " and
that was worth getting wet and dirty. Will you
come to Aunt Eunice, Elizabeth? She is very
anxious to see you."
"Yes," said Elizabeth, leaving her father and
going to him with hand outstretched. "Yes, let
"Good-bye," said Mr. Emerson, watching the
two as they went, hand-in-hand like children. He
THE PKIMROSE PATH 265
did not move until they were beyond his sight
Then he gave a sigh and turned to his cigar.
"I believe my Bess will be happy," he solilo-
quized. " For those two, marriage will be a taking
hands and running out into the sun at the call of
the sea and the off-shore wind. I don't think their
comradeship will fail."
" Let's not tell any one else at present, Amory,"
Elizabeth was saying as they entered the garden at
Journey's End. " Mother won't want my engage-
ment announced while she is away. She'll want to
have a big fuss and do things we'll both hate, but
I'm afraid we'll have to let her."
" Of course we must consider her wishes," as-
sented Amory. "But you will let me tell the
Averys? It will go no further and I have been so
close to them that it will hurt them not to know.
They and my sister Caroline are the only ones aside
from Aunt Eunice whom I want to tell."
" Of course you may, Amory. I only meant that
Mother won't want it formally announced until she
comes home, so it won't do to tell many people. I
shall tell no one but Dad."
" One moment," said Amory, drawing her into
the lilac walk ; " come here and sit down. We can
stay only a minute, for Aunt Eunice knew that I
went to see your father and she will be waiting for
266 JOUKNEY'S EISTD
" No, we mustn't stay/' Elizabeth assented, " only
just long enough for me to tell you that in my turn,
I will do my best to make you happy. I loved your
saying that to Dad. And I want to help you in
" I do care a lot about my profession ; I want to
make it a success, but you will never feel, will you,
Elizabeth, that it comes before you? There may be
times when it will seem to you that I consider duty
before love, but in my heart you will always be
" I shall try never to hinder you," said Elizabeth
seriously, and so they promised each other all the
sweet impossibilities which Love suggests to every
boy and girl who discover the path to Paradise.
" Gracious ! " said Elizabeth at last, " we must
not stay here ; we must go straight to Aunt Eunice."
" Dear," said Amory as they rose, " I have a fancy
not to give you a diamond. You shall have them
later, but I would like to have your engagement
ring after my own wish. Are you willing? "
" I shall love it, whatever it is and all the more
if it is not like everybody's."
" It won't be," said Amory briefly and then they
went up the central walk by the sun-dial. Eliza-
beth paused for a moment. The dial stood in a
small round bed, its low gray pedestal rising from
a mass of blue larkspurs. Later, its background
THE PRIMKOSE PATH 267
would change to frilly pink hollyhocks, for their
blossoms were already showing. The years of
lovely, gracious living that had characterized Jour-
ney^s End for over a century had left their peace
upon the garden also, the peace that only perma-
nence bestows. The people who dwelt in the old
house had known the dignity that comes from liv-
ing in one place through generations, among books
and flowers, in quiet ways and in the beauty of
simplicity. The realization came to Elizabeth that
Amory's rather unusual personality was the direct
result of such an inheritance and environment. He
would never let the dust of daily life blot out the
light of sun and stars.
Year in, year out, had the dial stood under chang-
ing skies in the garden that looked on the sea. As
month succeeded month, bitter cold and burning
heat, frost, rain and wind had all left their touches
on its bronze face and granite pedestal. Five gener-
ations of Russells had known the motto, which,
with new appreciation, Elizabeth paused to read :
MY HO U RES ARE MADE OF SUN AND SHADE
TAKE HEDE OF WHAT YOUR HOURES BE MADE
IN WHICH AUNT EUNICE IS ILL AND LYDIA SEES A
THAT night Amory did not go to bed early
nor when he tried to sleep was he success-
ful, but lay in his quiet room where the
sound of waves floated up from the beach, very far
from unconsciousness. His mind seemed unusually
keen and alert, busied with many plans, in all of
which Elizabeth figured.
Suddenly he was startled by a rude shock which
brought him up standing. The bell connecting with
his aunt's chamber rang.
Amory stopped neither for slippers nor bathrobe.
He had had that bell put in lest an attack, which
must come sooner or later in the progress of her
disease, might take place in the night. The bell had
not ceased its vibration before he was beside her.
The reading-lamp by the bed was turned on and
Amory saw in the pale face on the pillow what he
had dreaded. Mrs. Russell tried to smile, gasped
and became unconscious.
With his other foresighted preparations, Amory
LYDIA SEES A GHOST
had not neglected to place in Ms aunt's room the
remedy which would be required and to instruct
her in its use. It stood there close at hand, though
beyond her reach.
His fingers never trembled as he gave her the
restorative, but his lips were set and his face almost
as white as her own. After a moment or two the
ghastly pallor began to change and the breathing
to become more natural. Soon the attack passed,
leaving her only a little exhausted.
" I was so sorry to disturb thee," she said pres-
" I was not asleep and. Aunt Eunice, if thee does
not summon me whenever thee but wishes to be read
to, I shall never forgive thee. Call me if thee but
feels an ache in thy little finger."
" I wish I had called thee earlier," his aunt ad-
mitted. " Not that I did not do so the moment I
had real need of thee, and I will always call thee,
Amory ; do not doubt that. But for the past hour
I have had such a singular feeling, not physical but
mental. It was distressing and it might have van-
ished had I heard thy voice."
"What sort of feeling, dear?"
" It is hard to put into words," said Mrs. Eussell
slowly, " and as I said, it seemed more of mind than
of body. I had a sense of being surrounded by evil,
nothing I can in the least define or describe, but
270 JOUKlSrEY'S END
merely an enveloping suffocating evil. I prayed,
and that seemed to lessen its weight, but it was
something I have never experienced in my life be-
" Aunt Eunice," said Amory tenderly, " that was
a symptom of thy approaching pain. A feeling of
great depression often characterizes certain types
of heart trouble."
" It may be as thee says, Amory," observed his
aunt after a time, " but I am not easily depressed
though I have known moments of discouragement.
This was wholly strange. Something seemed near
me which was alien to my very soul. I felt sick to
the core of my being. It was not until I could pray
that the horror left me, which it did like the rising
of a black cloud."
"I am so sorry thee did not ring for me at
" But after the cloud went I was untroubled in
mind and body until suddenly it became difficult
for me to breathe and thy remedy was beyond my
hand. But I am quite myself now, so return to thy
bed. Thee is only in pajamas of thin silk ; thee must
" I'll get my bathrobe, but I am going to spend
the rest of the night here on the couch at the foot
of thy bed."
Mrs. Russell protested but Amory remained firm.
LYDIA SEES A GHOST 271
The clock on the stairs struck two as he entered his
own room and to his surprise found Lydia standing
in its centre.
" Amory Russell," she said, turning upon him a
pale face, " is Eunice ill? "
" She has been, but she is free from pain now.
What is the matter, Lydia? Thee is as white as a
" That is just the matter," said Lydia, sinking
into the nearest chair. " I have seen one."
Amory reached for his bathrobe, put it on and
stuck his feet into slippers. " Where is thy ghost? "
" It was at my window," said Lydia, putting her
hand to her throat and speaking with diflOLculty.
" I sat up in bed and looked at it. It was a fright-
ful thing with shining eyes. There was a light from
them thrown on the ceiling as well. I could not
speak nor move, but after a time, which seemed an
eternity, it vanished. When I had recovered my
strength I came to thy room only to find thee
" Lydia, thee has had a nightmare," said Amory
kindly. " Come, I will go back to thy room with
" I ate no meat to-night, merely soup and vege-
tables and a peach for dessert. It was no night-
272 JOUKNEY'S EITD
Amory looked at her closely. SometMng had
evidently frightened her.
"I will attend to thy ghost, Lydia," he said.
" Stay here till thee feels calm."
Amory crossed the hall to Lydia's open door. As
he expected, there was nothing visible to account
for her terror. " She is not imaginative,'' he
thought. " I wonder whether anybody could have
climbed this portico and showed up a jack-o'-lantern
or anything of the kind."
Standing at the open window, a slight sound
caught his ear and he stopped as though frozen to
"Lydia's room is above the east parlor," the
thought flashed through his mind. " That sounds
like somebody trying to cut glass. I believe the
burglars are back! Great Scott! and I mustn't
frighten Aunt Eunice."
He hurried across the hall to where Lydia still
sat. " Look here," he said in a hasty whisper, " I
think somebody is trying to break in down-stairs.
Go to Aunt Eunice's room, shut her door and don't
let her suspect anything. Say thee is come to stay
until I am ready. Now, Lydia, brace up and be a
sport ! "
Lydia threw him one look and went. Amory
seized the telephone, gave the message to the police
station, took a revolver from his desk and, not wait-
LYDIA SEES A GHOST 273
ing for the promised reinforcements, started for
the front staircase. Half-way down, lie tripped
and fell with a terrific crash.
The noise filled the silent house like the sound
of doom. Lydia emerged at once from Mrs. Eus-
seirs room. Amory at the foot of the stairs was
muttering exasperated comments on his clumsiness.
Fortunately the revolver had not been discharged
in the fall, but the burglar could not fail to know
that the house was roused.
Amory picked himself up, to subside at once into
a hall chair, aware of a sprained ankle. He could
only limp to the door to answer the knock of the
"We surrounded the house and somebody was
using a cutter on a window all right enough, but he
has made his getaway,'' said the captain.
"Due to my falling down-stairs with noise
enough to wake the dead," said the disgusted
Amory. " Just my luck. If that hadn't happened,
we would have nailed him."
" Dr. Eussell," began the captain, " somebody is
after something here and it looks to me as though
he was going to keep on with his job till he makes
it. Now the next time you hear anything, telephone
the station but don't try to get into it yourself.
Stay up-stairs. Your falling was a piece of ill-luck
that simply warned the crook. We are wise to the
274 JOUENEY'S END
fact that it is the east room which needs watching
and well go straight there. What's that,
" Give it a name," said the patrolman who had
come around the house and who was holding in
his hand a strange-looking object. Light came at
once to Amory.
" That's a Chinese devil-mask ! " he exclaimed.
" Well, that explains Lydia's fright."
" Plain enough that the man climbed the porch
and looked in her window," commented the captain
when Amory related Lydia's tale. " If the room
had been unoccupied, he'd have entered there
rather than break glass."
" What on earth does any Chinese want to break
in here for? " asked Amory.
" They are a rum lot. Dr. Kussell ; superstitious
as the devil, too. If we could find out what became
of the heathen who did the vanishing act in that
east room we might find out why there have been
two attempted breaks since then. We'll keep a
watch the rest of the night. Given your ankle a
twist, haven't you? You were lucky nothing worse
happened. It isn't exactly healthy to fall down a
flight of stairs with a loaded revolver in one hand."
Amory liimself thought his escape providential
but still cursed his clumsiness in making the mis-
step. Having parted with the patrolmen, he pain-
LYDIA SEES A GHOST 275
fully climbed to the upper hall, where Lydia re-
ported Mrs. Eussell sleeping peacefully.
" That's one thing to be thankful for. And,
Lydia, thee did see something at thy window."
"I am glad thee is convinced," said Lydia
when he explained. " Thee may be a skilful physi-
cian, Amory, and I think myself thee has gifts in
that direction, but thee will never convince me that
the meal I ate last evening could give me night-
mare. And now, can thee heal thyself? "
" I shall try jolly hard," replied Amory, limping
down the hall. "Will thee lie on the couch in
Aunt Eunice's room, Lydia, since I cannot? I
don't think she will wake or feel ill again, but some-
body should be near. And will thee go first to my
office and bring me a roll of bandage, the two-inch
" I will do both," said Lydia, gliding down the
stairs like a gray ghost.
Amory dragged himself into his bathroom, his
teeth set, and spent the next hour in treating his
ankle. Having reached the i)oint where he could
step on it without much pain, he bandaged it and
went to bed just as the early dawn began to show
beyond the lighthouse.
" The last twenty-four hours have not been un-
eventful," he thought. " I wonder whether I shall
lead an equally simple life to-day."
IN WHICH ELIZABETH IS SUPERSTITIOUS AND AMORY
AS had been the case with the previous at-
tempt at burglary, the second was suc-
ceeded by a period of calm. The next
morning Amory sent for an electrician and ordered
a burglar alarm placed on all the lower-floor win-
dows, a precaution which met with Lydia's full
Mrs. Russell seemed practically herself again
and gently protested over Amory's expressed inten-
tion to have the specialist from Boston visit her.
" It is unnecessary, dear," she said. " I am en-
tirely satisfied with thee for a physician. And both
thee and Dr. Camp told me this attack was to be
expected. His opinion but confirmed thy own
" I want him to come, Aunt Eunice. Thee is so
dear to me that I dare not trust myself with the
whole responsibility. And truly, were thee a
stranger, I should at this point advise consulting a
ELIZABETH IS SUPERSTITIOUS 277
specialist. Thee will not object, since I so much
wish it? "
" If thee will be comforted by his further opinion,
let him come. I am only sorry that my illness
should sadden thy first joy with Elizabeth, but joy
and sorrow are very closely mingled in this life.
My share in thy happiness is so great that other
things seem trivial. But thee is limping ; what has
befallen thee? -'
Amory thought it best to tell her. Mrs. Kussell
had never been nervous about burglars and she
would have to know sooner or later, but he omitted
any mention of the revolver. Instead, he placed the
emphasis upon the problematic object of the rob-
" I cannot imagine," said his aunt. " There are
things of value in that room, especially the rugs,
but Robert once told me that the more valuable
ones were so unusual that they would be almost as
difficult for a thief to dispose of as unique jewels.
Aside from them I can think of nothing to attract
a burglar. It is not pleasant to think of Journey's
End being under surveillance, and I do not like thee
to be in danger of an encounter with despera-
" If I continue to fall down-stairs and warn them,
there will be no encounter. No, my ankle is not at
all badly sprained and I gave it such prompt treat-
278 JOURNEY'S END
ment that it will be practically well by to-morrow.
I will go and telephone Dr. Camp.''
"And ask Elizabeth to come to me, since thee will
be making calls and cruelly bade me stay in bed. I
shall be selfish, Amory; I shall want her company
" I shall never be jealous of thee," said Amory
" Thee need not be, for I trust thee will have
many years with Elizabeth where my time is short.
I am thankful that I have been permitted to see my
dearest hope for thee on the way to fulfillment. I
trust her mother will not insist on a long engage-
" I fancy not, but I can see that Elizabeth dreads
to have the rest of her family come home."
" She would like to take her love aside and keep
it for thee and herself alone, and Mrs. Emerson will
wish the world to know."
" Mrs. Emerson may not find a busy doctor an
easy person to boss," said Amory mischie-
vously. "I see how I can save Elizabeth by ar-
ranging my engagements to conflict with her
Mrs. Russell smiled. "Thee must not offend
Elizabeth's mother," she said. " Patience will be
necessary until she is thy wife and then thee can do
more as thee wishes. I do not think Mrs. Emerson
ELIZABETH IS SUPEKSTITIOUS 2T9
will find thee the most tractable of sons. Thee will
get on better with Elizabeth's father. But ask her
if she will come and sit with me during thy absence
Next day the specialist came, confirming Amory's
own conviction that there was no reason to antici-
pate another immediate attack. One might not
occur for weeks, but excitement might precipitate
it at any moment. He would recommend complete
freedom from anxiety, from agitation either by joy
or sorrow, and abstinence from all but the most
" She is a wonderful woman, Dr. Kussell,'' he
said when the two men had left the big front room
and were closeted in Amory's offi.ce. " I was ex-
traordinarily impressed with her when Howland
brought her to me the first time. Her calm was
marvelous and equally so her determination that
you should not know^ of her trouble. Howland told
me the exact circumstances and when I saw Mrs.
Eussell, they impressed themselves on me. I do
not consider her condition immediately critical;
with care, which she will have, she may live for
years. The attacks may come more or less fre-
quently, but may not grow markedly more severe.
In fact, the development may be extremely slow. I
have known cases of this type to remain almost
280 JOUENEY'S END
He answered a few teclmical questions and tten
asked a personal one.
" Dr. Fenwick is a friend of mine. Aren't you
the young fellow who refused to go into his ofS.ce? "
" Yes," Amory admitted rather unwillingly. " It
was a fine offer and I hated to turn it down, but you
know now why I did it."
" I see," observed Dr. Camp thoughtfully. " Yes,
I see. In a conflict between duty and ambition,
duty won out."
" Not exactly duty," said Amory, with a serious
expression on his fine face. " My aunt never
knew of the offer. Had she known, she would have
insisted on my accepting it. No, I cannot claim
that I stayed from duty, for that somehow implies
that it was grudgingly, but because my staying
makes all the difference to her."
"You are a lucky chap," said the older man,
with real feeling in his voice. "I have an idea
that you wouldn't have made the record you al-
ready have if she hadn't put something into you.
Love and gratitude are none too common in this
world. Well, you can feel assured that your pres-
ent treatment is exactly what I should advise, but
if you want me to look at her again, call me and
I will come any time. Luncheon? — ^why, if it is
ready, I will accept your hospitality."
They lunched alone, since Mrs. Eussell had not
ELIZABETH IS SUPEESTITIOUS 281
yet left her room, but the conversation did not
again become personal. When Dr. Camp went,
Amory had time only for a brief visit to his aunt
before his office hour. Bell had shown in several
patients before he ran up to speak to her.
He stayed with her but &ve minutes, washed his
hands in his own room and went down to his office
ready for his first patient. As he came down-stairs
he caught a glimpse of something moving in the
east parlor. The hall was empty and Amory was
not certain he had seen any one ; he was conscious
only that with the tail of his eye he detected mo-
tion. He went at once to the room.
Just inside the door stood a short man, looking
about as though in search of some definite thing.
When Amory entered he turned quickly and Amory
experienced a distinct shock as he saw that the in-
truder was a Chinese.
"Pardon," said the man at once in excellent
English. " You are Dr. Eussell? I have come to
consult you. Is it here that I wait or will you see
me at once? "
" This is not the reception-room, but if you will
come into my office I will attend to you immedi-
ately," said Amory, puzzled to know whether the
man had really blundered into the wrong room or
whether he had deliberately left the other. He
would question Bell later, but no matter how many
282 JOUENEY'S END
people had rigMfully preceded this person, he
would afford him no further excuse for wandering
about Journey's End.
The man entered the office at once but gave
Amory absolutely no opening for any questions nor
any ground for supposing he had ever been in the
house before. He was well-dressed and a man of
education. Amory was more puzzled than ever
when he rose to show him out, which he did in per-
son, preferring to close the front door himself upon
this especial visitor.
He saw the rest of his patients, giving each his
courteous and interested attention, but in the bot-
tom of his mind ran a sort of undercurrent of
speculation as to the identity of that Chinese and
the real reason for his visit. The trouble about
which he had come to consult a doctor was one that
the average man would have ignored unless it be-
came more than a temporary discomfort, and yet it
was enough to provide an excuse for getting into
Journey's End. Amory was not surprised to learn
from Bell that the Chinese had been shown into the
reception-room like all the other patients. He had
evidently watched a chance to slip into the hall and
down it to the east parlor, but the opportunity
proved ill-chosen, since it chanced to be at the mo-
ment when Amory came on the scene. Bell also
declared that he was not the foreign gentleman who
ELIZABETH IS SUPEESTITIOUS 283
called some weeks previously and presented the
The whole affair seemed no nearer solution and
Amory really did not know what to think. Next
day he had an errand which took him to Boston,
and during his drive up and back, he considered the
question from all sides. There were a number of
Chinese in Freeport, mostly laundrymen, with the
keepers of two restaurants, one of which was popu-
lar with the set of fashionable young people, but
they had always been law-abiding and kept very
much by themselves. Amory did not think they in-
cluded any one so well educated as his caller of the
That night he dined with the Emersons and after
coffee he and Elizabeth wandered into the garden
of Journey's End and soon found themselves near
the lilac walk and the seat of the little lions.
Amory's ankle was practically well, betraying the
injury only by a step less buoyant than customary.
Having sought their usual resting-place, Amory
placed a tiny package in Elizabeth's hand.
" The ring? " she asked, guessing from its shape.
*• I want you to open it and put it on my finger and
I shall keep my eyes shut until it is there."
Amory laughed and opened the box. Lifting her
hand, he kissed it gently and slipped the ring upon
her finger. " Look now," he said.
284 JOURNEY'S END
Elizabeth opened her eyes and gave a gasp.
" Oh, I never saw anything like that ! '^ she ex-
claimed and then was silent.
" Do you like it as well as a diamond? "
" Oh, much better ! It is wonderful. Marion's
diamond isn't half so beautiful. And a platinum
ring ! Oh, Amory ! "
"I have always liked sapphires," said Amory,
taking her hand on his palm, " and I love blue for
you. It is the color of truth and of hope and of the
heaven above us."
" This is the loveliest stone I ever saw," said
Elizabeth sincerely. " It looks like a fringed gen-
tian set in hoarfrost."
" That is precisely what came into my mind when
I saw it," exclaimed Amory, " a remembrance of a
chill September morning when I found the gentians
in a frosty meadow. I thought you would see the
"Amory," said Elizabeth sometime later, "you
have never told me why you remembered the blue
dress I wore that evening at the Red Cross car-
" No," agreed Amory, smiling. " You see, those
unpleasant idiots in the motor-launch precipitated
matters so that all my carefully laid plans went
overboard. But why should I call them either un-
pleasant or idiotic since they really helped me out?
ELIZABETH IS SUPERSTITIOUS 285
I will forgive them at once. Yes, I will forgive
them and I will tell you about the blue dress. You
remember that I impolitely overheard the palmist
give you an excellent general character, and insinu-
ate that you were going to have a rocky road to
travel, and warn you of some vague danger."
"I'm not so sure about the character, and it
makes me think of Mother engaging a cook, but the
rest is all straight," admitted Elizabeth, laughing.
" When you had gone and I showed her my palms
she looked at them attentively and presently gave
me a keen glance. I am accustomed to note things
closely and I observed that it was one of real sur-
prise, not to say distress. Then she asked if I knew
the young girl who had just gone out. I said I did
not, that I had never seen you before, and never ex-
pected to see you again. And I didn't then, Queen
"Whereupon the palmist informed me that the
same disaster that threatened you also threatened
" Good gracious ! " said Elizabeth. " And do you
believe her? "
" Neither then nor now. A scientist is the least
superstitious of persons, and while I admit that
certain lines in one's palm, certain physical forma-
tions, may indicate probable tendencies or types of
character — for example, she guessed from the shape
286 JOUKNEY'S END
of my Hands that I was a doctor — I have absolutely
no faith that she could in any degree whatever
foretell what was to happen to you or to me."
" But it was odd, to say the least."
" Yes, I will admit that, and also that it inter-
ested me suffi-ciently to try to take a second look at
the girl who was to be involved in my affairs "
"But, Amory," interrupted Elizabeth. "It is
coming true! We, who never saw each other be-
fore, have met and become acquainted and engaged
to be married. Don't say it isn't true, because it
is taking place this minute ! "
"But the palmist has nothing to do with it,"
laughed Amory. " Doubtless it was written in the
book of fate, — in the stars, — ^that I should love you,
but not on our palms, Elizabeth."
" I'm not so sure," she persisted. " But go on.
You tried to find the blue dress?"
" I did, and could not, for you must have left the
hall. Your face had been in shadow and I had no
really good look at you, but I remembered your
dress. To begin with, it was a color I am fond
of — you must always have a gentian dress — and I
thought about it until it became almost a personal-
ity in itself. It is so yet."
Elizabeth was silent for a moment. Then she
turned Amory's hand palm upward beside her own.
" I don't know the first thing about palmistry,"
ELIZABETH IS SUPEKSTITIOUS 287
she observed, studying the markings, " and so far
as I can see, the lines are not at all alike."
" I see some resemblances, but many differences,
though I do not know what the lines are supposed
" I know it is silly to think it means much, but
some of it is strange, Amory. She said there would
be one strong influence for good in my life and that
it would come from a woman. Think of Aunt
Eunice ! "
" There seem coincidences and I will admit that
some of the things she said were odd, but let us not
attach too much importance to chance confirma-
tions. I believe, with Henley, that we are the
masters of our own fates."
"And never the victims of circumstance? " asked
"We may be battered by circumstances, but
never really conquered unless we ourselves give
" I can't imagine your giving up," sighed Eliza-
beth. "Whatever happened you would get the
better of it. But what do you think is meant by
the disaster that threatens us both? "
Amory looked at her, started to remonstrate se-
riously and then changed his mind. " Merely our
getting engaged ! " he declared whimsically. " The
great danger was that you would refuse me ! "
288 JOURNEY'S END
"We will let it go at that," agreed Elizabeth
laughingly, but she was silent for a moment as an-
other bit of advice from that past interview flashed
into her mind. "^And when Love comes to call
thee, arise and follow fast.'
" I won't be silly and superstitious," she went on.
" Has Aunt Eunice seen my precious ring? "
" She has not. It was for your eyes first."
"Of course I must keep it out of sight until
Mother gets home and the engagement is an-
nounced, but I shall wear it whenever we are alone
together and put it on a chain about my neck the
rest of the time. I had a letter from Mother to-
day. She was pleased, but, of course, warned me
not to let any one suspect until she comes."
Elizabeth spoke guardedly, for she had not cared
for the letter. Yet in her own way Mrs. Emerson
loved her daughter and was unfeignedly glad that
from the standpoint of her world Elizabeth had
done so well. Elizabeth appreciated the affection
underlying the congratulation but disliked greatly
the tenor of the message. Neither sister had yet
written, and Elizabeth decided that if the opening
words of Dot's letter showed her still in the same
mind about Amory, it should remain both unread
and unanswered. Marion would at least be kind.
" I had a note from your mother myself," said
Amory, " a pleasant one to receive. I'm glad they
ELIZABETH IS SUPERSTITIOUS 289
are willing I should have you. I hope your sisters
will like me."
"You'll get on with Marion," and then she
changed the subject abruptly. " I want to show
my gentian to Aunt Eunice. She will love it ! "
''Like it, you mean," teased Amory. "Aunt Eu-
nice, you know, keeps the nice little word only for
her children, for you and for me."
IN WHICH CAROLINE DISCOURSES ON DEVILS AND
AMORY AND ELIZABETH VISIT THE DUNES
CONGRATULATIONS, dear Amory," wrote
Caroline, ^^from tlie bottom of my heart,
and thanks for your admission that she
parts her hair in the middle, as you will remember
I told you she would do! Never mind, brother
dear ; I'll teach her another way to arrange it."
" Oh, will you? " said Amory to himself. " I
wouldn't bet on it, Carol."
"Honestly, I am awfully pleased and wild to
meet her. I hope she is exactly your kind, Amory.
Somebody who knows the Emersons told me that
the girls were rather speedy, but, of course, it may
have been the others. You and Aunt Eunice be-
tween you could love a black sheep into being a
woolly white lamb, and the sheep wouldn't recog-
nize itself either, only I'd hate to have you get bit-
ten during the process. You see, I think any girl
who wins your love is a mighty lucky person,
so I want her to be what you think she is. I'm
surprised that she isn't a Friend, — ^what will
cakoliot: discoukses 291
you do with a worldly Episcopalian like me?
Now, do be married this fall, and 111 come to Free-
port and wear my newest gown, which is a great
gown, I can tell you. Perhaps I'll come anyway,
just to get acquainted with the girl who is to be my
sister. I don't know much from you, except that
she is the most charming person in the world, and
that, dear Amory, is merely what every boy who
falls in love thinks ! That Aunt Eunice loves her
gives me a better idea of her, because she must be
some girl to win the little Quaker aunt's approval.
" I, too, am at a loss to explain the mysterious
appearance and disappearance of that man who
presented my letter and yet was not Yin. How un-
fortunate that only a stupid servant saw him, for
Yin is quite adorable and you would have recog-
nized him from my description. Yin has been here
again this past Sunday, telegraphed to know if he
might come. Jermain had his own guests and I
was charmed at the idea of seeing my little Celes-
tial again. I was going to write Celestial cherub,
but feared you might think me profane.
" Well, Yin appeared and I saw at once that he
had something on his mind, so I proceeded to take
it off, being an adept at that. By the way, I will
give Elizabeth some points on managing a husband.
The main thing with every man — and you are no
exception — is to let him think he is pleasing him-
292 JOUKNEY'S END
self. It works with all and equally well. I made
Yin think the one thing on earth that interested me
was his troubles and inclined a sympathetic ear. I
heard much that I will not scandalize you by pass-
ing on. But I discovered that Yin had come with
a purpose and a fixed one, too. He brought with
him a magnificent necklace of old silver and emer-
alds, a truly gorgeous thing, which he laid literally
at my feet, praying in return that I would permit
him the loan — ^he asked only that — of my jade and
"At this point he became so tangled in languages
that I was obliged to unwind him like a kitten from
a ball of yarn, but I finally learned that he wished
to try an experiment with it, after which he would
return it. The necklace was no loan, however, but
a free gift in return for the privilege of borrowing
" I was interested, for this was a new experience.
And how strikingly oriental ! Had you or any
other nice American boy wished to play with that
pendant, you would frankly have asked to borrow
it without depositing — do you call it collateral?
But Yin looked at the matter differently.
" I toyed with the idea for a time before dashing
his hopes by the information that I could not accept
so valuable a gift from any man but my brother or
my husband. Not that Jermain would care a rap,
CAROLINE DISCOURSES 293
but it is well to keep within the conventions. Some
time I may have need of them. I told him that I
could not accept the necklace, but that I would
willingly lend him the pendant were it in my power
to do so, but it had unaccountably disappeared.
"At this, Yin had a fit of some nature, which
might have interested you as a physician. It was
a fittish fit and sounded terribly profane, though
being in Chinese I understood nothing but the tone,
which was exceedingly loud and deep. He seemed
" It really was the truth. The pendant has dis-
appeared and neither I nor my maid can recollect
anything about it. I did not often wear it, and
may only have lost it, but I discovered that it was
gone just about the time you wrote me of the
Chinese visitor who went up in blue smoke in the
east parlor. I have no real reason for thinking so,
but it would not surprise me if a servant I dis-
missed about that time stole it.
"At any rate it was not here for Yin to borrow,
and he took its loss seriously to heart. He disar-
ranged his hair, and that, for a Chinese, is going
far. I am interested in that pendant or amulet as
Yin calls it, and in his theory about it which I
wrote you before. Do you suppose that Yin has
located the devil and wants to boss it? He would
tell me nothing more and probably the next time I
294 JOUKNEY'S END
see him will deny tliat lie ever had any interest in
the thing. I only hope on his next visit he won't
bring his demon with him, leashed, so to speak, like
a pet dog.
" With your scientific mind and Quaker training,
you have doubtless been curling your upper lip
most frightfully over my fancies, but cheer up,
Amory, there are queer things and queer doings in
this world. I could tell you tales, but if I did, you
would say words Aunt Eunice never taught you
and tear up this letter. But I wish we might locate
that pendant and its accompanying devil. Perhaps
said devil is busy bossing affairs at Washington.
Do you think your attempted burglaries have any-
thing to do with it? If that demon has taken up
its residence at Journey's End, better exorcise it
at once, though it probably isn't there, for no evil
spirit could exist comfortably under the same roof
as Aunt Eunice.
" To change the subject, won't you motor up to
Cornwall and bring Aunt Eunice and Elizabeth for
a week-end or longer? Let me know when and I'll
cancel all the people Jermain has invited and edit
my own list. I'd love to have you come and I'll be
as good as gold if you will. I won't corrupt Eliza-
beth; I want her to love me and perhaps she will
because I am your sister. I care a great deal about
your marriage being happy, Amory ; it makes such a
CAROLmE DISCOURSES 295
difference to one's life and there aren't many girls
good enough for you. Do come if you can and send
me Elizabeth's picture if you can't. Lucky Eliza-
Amory read the letter twice and vevy thought-
fully. Caroline's epistles always made him sorry
for her, for he invariably read below their surface
flippancy, as she doubtless meant he should do.
This especial letter, with its affectionate messages,
touched him in a tender spot, for she had never
before admitted quite so openly what he knew to be
the fact, that her marriage was unhappy.
" I wish Carol had some children," Amory
thought. " That might make a difference, for Jer-
main is fond of kids. I saw him with one once."
A rather wistful look crossed his face for a sec-
ond as he continued to dwell on his sister's let-
" Of course I can't take Elizabeth there even if
Aunt Eunice was in shape for such a jaunt. We
should have the whole town talking. Send her a
picture? I can do that, only it doesn't give the
least idea of Elizabeth's vivacity and the way she
sparkles and changes.
" Poor Carol ! I wonder if it was fair to sepa-
296 JOURNEY'S END
rate us wlien we were children and bring us up so
differently. And yet what else could they do when
our parents distinctly directed it to be done? Sup-
pose I had been the one who went to Grandmother
Payne? I'll bet I wouldn't have studied medicine
nor be plugging away in Freeport, diagnosing
mumps and operating on ingrowing toe-nails. And
it's equally certain that if Carol had grown up in
Journey's End she would never in this life have
married Jermain Chittick! And yet, as things
were, nothing in heaven or earth could have pre-
vented her from marrying him.
"As for demons and amulets — bosh! She is as
bad or worse than Elizabeth with her palmist whom
she more than half believes. Carol could * tell me
things.' I'll warrant she can and I'll bet she has
been dabbling in matters she shouldn't, and I wish
I had a chance to read her a brotherly lecture. I'd
blow her sky-high. Poor old Carol ! What a mess
her life does look and she's only two years older
than I. I wish I could help her."
For some moments Amory sat wrapped in
thought, his face showing no indication that he had
arrived at any solution of Caroline's problems, but
he finally put the letter aside and took up another,
one already opened.
When he laid it down his face was yet more
grave, for it contained his third extremely flatter-
CAKOLINE DISCOURSES 297
ing offer from an older medical man to accept a
position on an institutional stafif — an opening tliat
promised a great future.
" It is easy enough to decide anything," thought
Amory soberly, " especially when one is under the
fresh influence of a big resolve and in a moment of
intense feeling, but gosh ! how hard it is to stick to
that decision on the dead level of every day. And
to be misjudged, too, for they do misjudge me. Of
course. Camp knows now since I told him, and I
suppose I was a fool to let it out. And as for Aunt
Eunice^s money, I don't care a hang what she does
with it, and there may not be any left, for I know
the dear saint gives it away right and left. I'm
thankful that whatever restraint has to be used is
put on by John Howland, not by me. I don't even
know how much Uncle Robert left her, though it
must have been considerable judging from the
amount he set aside for that trust, — odd thing, that
trust. I do want Journey's End sometime, and
that I know she means to give me. She must have
a good income, for it costs a lot to keep the place
up, and the house and grounds are always in perfect
condition. I'd willingly share expenses, but she
seemed so hurt when I suggested it that I don't
dare say any more. Funny how she can make me
feel about nine years old again if she is displeased
298 JOUENEY'S END
" I have enoughL of my own to run the house when
it is mine and to take care of Elizabeth as she is
used to living and, of course, my practice is grow-
ing. But it takes courage to turn down an offer
like this. I ought to have more surgical work; I
don't want to get rusty. We ought to have a hos-
pital in Freeport; it's a town disgrace that there
isn't one. Then I'd get a chance, but I think I can
pull some strings so I might get a look-in, say once
a week, at some place in Boston. I had some
mighty valuable experience in France and I hate to
let it go by the board. Well ! I made up my mind
to stay in Freeport, and stay I shall. I put my
hand to the plough and I won't quit, but I wish I
had grace enough to do so without looldng back.
Aunt Eunice needs me and that ought to be enough.
It shall he V
Amory slapped down the tempting letter and
wrote a courteous refusal. Then he filed away
both it and Caroline's and became absorbed in a
medical journal. He was yet reading when a tap
came on his door and Elizabeth looked in. He rose
with an exclamation.
" Yes ! " she said, with mock severity, " I invited
you to have supper with me on the dunes and see
the moon come up — our second full moon, Amory!
And you never came near me, so I came to see what
is keeping you."'
CAROLINE DISCOURSES 299
She picked up the journal he had hurriedly
tossed aside. " Gracious ! ^' she said. " It looks
fearfully difficult. Amory, do you mean to say you
read medical things in French f ''
Amory laughed at her surprised face. " No man
ever gets into Johns Hopkins who doesn't both read
and speak French and German, really read and
speak them, I mean, not a mere dictionary ac-
quaintance. There is my diploma on the wall,
Elizabeth laid down the paper with a sigh. " Do
you really like to do it? " she asked.
" I speak French nearly as well as English, read
it just as easily, so that isn't any hardship. As for
German, that is essential, too, because although
they are beasts, they are scientific beasts, and it is
important to know what they are doing, and only
the smallest possible percentage ever gets trans-
lated into English. You will see me reading these
papers rather often."
Elizabeth still looked awe-struck. "Amory," she
said, and her question was serious, " aren't you
really rather unusual as a doctor? That is, are all
men who start in to practise as well equipped? "
"Why, personally they probably are," said
Amory, taking her as seriously. " Not all medical
schools have so high a standard as Johns Hopkins,
and it is one of the more expensive. That is where
300 JOURNEY'S END
I had an advantage, that I could go there. I am
also fortunate to have had such experience during
the war and afterwards, and, of course, I can make
a start now unhampered by the lack of books and
instruments which many young doctors can't afford
to buy right off. I don't believe I am unusual in
any way, Elizabeth, except that the question of
money has never bothered me."
" I think that is just where you are unusual.
Not many young men who didn't have to work
would have chosen an occupation that meant so
"You didn't know my Uncle Robert," said
Amory, half laughing. " He was determined that
I should make my life amount to something. I
didn't realize it when I was growing up as I do
now, but looking back I can see that his whole will
was set on influencing me to do something worth
while. I was just through my training when
Uncle Robert died, and though he knew I intended
to realize his hopes for me, he didn't live to see me
do it. I wish he had. Perhaps where he is he
" Of course he does," said Elizabeth bluntly.
Amory looked at her with a smile. " I hope so,"
he said. " Then you can stand the French and
German papers? "
" Yes," said Elizabeth. " But shall we start for
CAKOLINE DISCOURSES 301
the dunes? And will you let me drive you in my
Amory agreed and ran up to his room while
Elizabeth talked with Aunt Eunice. When he was
ready they went to the Emerson garage and Eliza-
beth took out her little roadster. It was painted
brightly and had a slightly rakish air which amused
Amory. It looked as though of its own accord it
would willingly snort defiance at traffic regula-
Their plan was to approach the dunes at a differ-
ent point than Freeport, and the little car soon cov-
ered the few miles. Following Amory's directions,
Elizabeth drove down a beach road edging the sand-
hills until the faint track ended in a gravel pit.
" Shall we be out of sight of the car? " asked
Elizabeth, taking her engine key.
" Some distance away, but people seldom come
here, and I think the car will be perfectly safe."
" I'll put on its red bracelet and then we'll be
sure," said Elizabeth, diving into the tool-box and
handing Amory a big red padlock, fitting the front
" I must get one of these," said Amory, snapping
it on. " But if I do I shall be sure to forget it is
on and what would happen then? "
Elizabeth made a quick gesture expressive of
ripping. " Good-night to the mud-guard," she said
302 JOUKNEY'S END
blithely. " Oh, isn't it wonderful here? I believe
the dunes have an air all their own."
Amory took the lunch and they climbed a hill
scantily covered with sparse coarse grass. From
its top they looked upon pathless rolling heaps of
sand swept clean and smooth by the wind. Not a
footprint showed in any direction.
" People hardly ever visit this part of the dunes,''
said Amory, commenting on the fact. " I have
sometimes been here for a whole day without seeing
" You seem to know where you are going," said
Elizabeth as he set off without hesitation along one
of the ridges.
" I won't lose you," said Amory, putting his free
arm about her. " I know exactly where I want to
take you, and when we reach it you will think that
you are on Robinson Crusoe's island or somewhere
the foot of man has never trod. Will you follow? "
"Anywhere," said Elizabeth, and then she added
shyly, " Even if it is ^ beyond the night, across the
" Oh, you do read Tennyson, even though you
think Arthur was a prig? "
"Did Aunt Eunice tell you that?" laughed
Elizabeth. " I like the happy princess better. I
appreciate how she felt."
Amory made an affectionate response and they
CAEOLINE DISCOUKSES 303
wandered on among the mysterious shifting moun-
tains created by the many-fingered sea. Change-
less and yet ever-changing they stand, advancing
imperceptibly with relentless, cruel destruction of
all land vegetation, though possessing uncanny
plants of their own, sea-rosemary, beach-grass, bay-
berry, silvery-stemmed shrubs like ghostly petrified
Sometimes the long sweeps of bare gleaming
sand rose to crest-like peaks hard enough to walk
upon without trace. Within their circles as they
topped the crests Amory and Elizabeth found tiny
ponds gleaming like turquoises, but set as no
earthly gem and possessing no earthly color, since
the heaven above lent them hue.
Absolute silence holds the dunes, the silence
of living death, for the dunes live, move and have
their being and yet are death. The scream of an
occasional gull, ghostly cloud-shadows trailing the
white hills, the incessant roar of breakers alone dis-
tracted the attention of the two. Not even their
absorption in each other prevented their perception
of the mighty dormant force about them.
Finally Amory stopped and looked expectantly
at Elizabeth. They stood where one of the sand
mountains dipped slightly to show a glimpse of
blue water to the left ; in the hollow behind, a jew-
eled lake reflected the sky ; before them lay a lonely
304 JOUKNEY'S END
stretch of beach with sullen thunder of crashing
waves. Not a trace of human life was visible, not
even the smoke of a passing steamer. A single
sandpiper scuttled along the deserted shore.
Elizabeth did not disappoint him. She drew a
long breath, waved both hands with the same ges-
ture that had attracted his attention on Clam Is-
land and lifted them and her face toward the sky.
Amory sat down on the edge of the dune where
he could see both ocean and lake. Presently Eliza-
beth came and knelt behind him, putting both arms
about his neck and her cheek against his. For a
long time they were silent while the sea-wind blew
through their hair.
" I think they like us, Amory," said Elizabeth at
" The dune spirits, you mean? "
" You said you were not superstitious."
" Nor am I. But the dunes are alive and very
sensitive. Haven't you felt them breathing during
this time we have been so still? Once, years ago,
I came here alone and after an hour or so I was
quite sure that only a thin veil prevented me from
seeing the spirits that live just over the crest of the
next hill. I followed half the afternoon and,
though I never quite caught up, I could hear them
laugh with fun. And once, very far away, I heard
the sound of their fairy pipes. People come here —
CAKOLIJSTE DISCOUESES 305
I liave known them to — ^who see nothing but desert
wastes and desolate sand. That is because they
are not in tune with the frisky spirits. I knew
they would bid you welcome."
" They are mischievous spirits," said Elizabeth,
smiling at his fancy. "Once one led me into a
quicksand where I left a shoe."
" And didn't you hear him chuckle as you stepped
out of it? That is the only trick they play, and
that was before they really knew you. You
wouldn't be led astray this afternoon."
"Are you hungry? " asked Elizabeth after a time.
" I am."
Amory assented and they ate their lunch, Amory
gravely pouring out a little lemonade as a libation
to the local deity of the place. Then they were
silent again, absorbed in the wonderful purple
lights that flickered and changed on the surface of
the hills as the sun set, and the sand grew pink,
green or violet with the altering rays. Even after
the sun vanished the shifting colors stayed.
" This is one of the most wonderful things I ever
saw," said Elizabeth when the dusk finally fell, the
colors blended into gray and the little lake turned
to steel. "I can hardly believe my eyes. Have
you brought many people to see it? "
" You are the first and only girl. Uncle Robert
has been here with me, and the boys, of course.
306 JOURNEY'S END
Putnam brought his mother, and she likes it as
much as we. Aunt Eunice never came; it would
be too hard a walk and I am not sure she would
approve of the dune spirits," he ended mischie-
" But your uncle did? "
"Approve them? Well, I would not go so far
as to say that, but he smiled when I told him of
them. Aunt Eunice never approved of fairy tales ;
Uncle Robert always tolerated my fancies."
" I wish I might have known him, but he died
just about the time we came to Freeport. That
portrait of him has such a fine face. He must have
been a remarkable person."
"A personality as well as a person," said Amory
thoughtfully. "It seems as though I miss him
more every week I am in Freeport. I find myself
thinking that Uncle Robert is the one to tell me
whether to do this or that, and then it comes over
me afresh that he isn't here to consult. Not that
he was ever given to bossing me ; rather, he tried to
make me think my problems out for myself, but at
a critical moment or when I honestly didn't know
what to do, he never failed me. And he had a calm
way of setting me straight that was masterly. I
remember once I had been criticizing somebody
without mercy and Uncle Robert let me have my
say. Then he looked at me over his glasses.
CAKOLINE DISCOUESES 307
* Amoiy/ he said, ^ if thee cannot make allowances
for other people, thee has not made the most of
thine own opportunities.' Amory came off his high
horse with a thud/'
"His portrait looks as though he might have
been severe," said Elizabeth, smiling at the story.
" He wasn't. I stood more in awe of Aunt Eu-
nice, and yet he had his own methods of dealing
with me. I remember once that I had an attack of
swelled head and thought myself pretty important.
Uncle Robert brought a book from his study and
asked me to read aloud to him, and I did so during
several evenings. The book was a series of popular
lectures on astronomy. Before I finished it I was
aware that I was a ver^ small and insignificant
person in a world that in itself was of no. especial
importance, and knew it without being told in so
many words. I am glad to remember now that I
admitted as much to Uncle Robert. And, Eliza-
beth, isn't the immensity of the dunes and the ocean
like that of the stars and the sky? "
" There are times," admitted Elizabeth, " when I
feel as though I never wanted to dance nor do any-
thing frivolous again, and this is one of them. But
I can't always feel that way. You mustn't stay too
much on the heights, Amory, for I shall have to
come down sometimes."
" It is true that our daily life has to be down on
308 JOURNEY'S END
the level," said Amory. " It is enough, isn't it, if
we know the paths to reach the heights when we
need their help? I'll help you frivol when you feel
like doing so, my Elizabeth, but we won't forget the
way to the things that are bigger than ourselves.
Ah, here comes the moon ! "
IN WHICH ELIZABETH LOSES SOMETHING IMPORTANT
WHEN the two reluctantly started home-
ward the moon was over an hour high.
Color no longer touched the dunes, only
chiaroscuro, shadows so black and sharp-cut that
they looked like velvet ; sheer stark reflected light.
" It looks now like an oriental drawing," com-
mented Elizabeth. " IVe always longed to see the
sand-hills by night. I did start to come once on the
beach road nearer town, but I no sooner stopped
my car than I was afraid to go alone, so I went
"It isn't a place for you without me," said
Amory. Having put on their sweaters and eaten
their luncheon, they were unimpeded now except
by a thermos bottle, and walked with clasped hands
swinging between them.
" This is the seventeenth of August," said Eliza-
beth. "Let's remember the date and come every
year on this day. And sometime I want most aw-
fully to go on a cruise in the Whitewing, a real one,
I mean, down along the Maine coast. Will you
310 JOURNEY'S END
" On our wedding journey if you'll marry me by
the first of September. I wouldn't risk the weather
after the fifteenth. Do, Queen Bess, that's a bully
idea! Come on, be a sport. Let's get married
next week and let them make all the row they want
and then sneak down through the garden and sail
out to sea."
"Mother won't let me," sighed Elizabeth.
"There will have to be any amount of fuss and
bother that you will hate and which will make me
furious. I shall be in a horrid state of mind when
Mother begins what she thinks are necessary prepa-
rations. I wish we could have only Aunt Eunice
and Dad, yes,- Billy and Marion, and your sister
and the Averys, and just be married quietly and
then go away in the Whiteioing. I'd probably be
the first girl in Massachusetts who ever went on a
wedding journey in a middy blouse ! No such luck,
Amory; I know exactly what is before us and I
shall be as cross as two sticks. I give you fair warn-
" But I thought a girl always had her wedding
just as she wanted."
"Elizabeth Emerson won't. Mother won't be-
lieve that I would really prefer it very simple;
she'll tell me that my ideas are sweet but quite un-
suitable, and then go on telephoning the confec-
tioners and the florist and heaven knows who ! No,
ELIZABETH LOSES SOMETHING 311
I shaU have to let Mother do as she likes with me
till I am married, but after that I am going to be-
long just to you and Aunt Eunice and Dad/'
" I can stand anything so long as it ends that
way, but when will you marry me if not next
"I don't know, Amory," said Elizabeth, very
hesitatingly. "I — I won't make it longer than
Mother decides, — that is, I think I won't, but — it
frightens me to think of being married. This is so
lovely now, this part of our life; I almost wish it
need never end. Sometimes I feel so helpless and
afraid " She stopped abruptly.
" Dear," said Amory tenderly, " no matter how
much we love each other before we are married, it
can't possibly be so much as it will be afterwards.
I know a doctor's wife has to share his responsi-
bilities, and it's true that I shall often be absorbed
in my work or have to leave you at a moment's
notice. But we will snatch every chance to run off
together and play. Your life shall have no burdens
that either love or money can prevent. And of all
men, a doctor ought to be a considerate husband.
I promise you to be that, Queen Bess."
Elizabeth stopped short, with her face turned
from him. T\Tien she looked at him again the
tears stood in her eyes.
" Oh, Amory," she said, with some difficulty, " I
312 JOUKNEY'S END
didn't suppose a man could understand — I didn't
suppose one could love a girl like that ! ''
After a little they went on again, breasting the
hills that lay between them and the place they had
left the car. On topping the last rise they were
surprised to come upon footprints showing that
some one else had passed that way.
" Odd," commented Amory. " Perhaps some
artist was out after color effects. It's most un-
usual to meet anybody on this side of the penin-
" There he is now, — see, across on the second
ridge toward land."
" Looks like a boy," said Amory, " and we shall
meet if we keep the same relative direction. If it
is one I shall ask his name and hail him as a kindred
spirit. Are you getting tired? "
" Not a bit. I could keep on indefinitely and I
hate to go home. Was there ever such a summer
"Not for us!" said Amory, waving his hand
toward the sea, now withdrawing toward distant
horizons, " but I suppose there are benighted people
who liked past seasons better. To each his own.
That is no boy ; he is merely a small man."
" He has left his car near ours," said Elizabeth
the next moment. " Let's go slowly so he can leave
ELIZABETH LOSES SOMETHING 313
Accordingly they delayed yet more, permitting
the little man to descend the slope before them, but
he had some trouble with his engine and just got
it started when they reached the top of the last hill.
Elizabeth turned away to the sea, but Amory^s at-
tention was attracted by the stranger in the car.
" Look, Elizabeth ! '' he said, " look at this man
and see if you don't think he's a foreigner." Amory
spoke in a whisper and touched her shoulder to
attract her attention. " Gosh ! he is a Chinese ! "
" He certainly is," agreed Elizabeth. The moon-
light fell full on the unmistakable oriental features
of the man in the car.
" Come on, let's take a look at him," said Amory,
starting down the hill to where the engine was fit-
fully turning. As he reached the machine he looked
steadily at its occupant, curious to know whether
he should recognize his former patient. So far as
he could tell, the man was a stranger and he passed
with a courteous " Fine night, isn't it? "
" You bet," came the slangy answer in crisp tones
from a dapper little Chinese who looked at Amory
quite as closely in his turn. "Which way to
town? " he added.
" Turn to your left on reaching the highway."
" I thank you. Good-night," with a precise bow
toward Elizabeth who followed at a slight distance.
"No, I never saw that chap before," observed
314 JOUKNEY'S END
Amory as tlie car snorted into the distance, " but
it seems as thougli I am haunted by slant-eyed
Chinese! Never particularly noticed them before,
never met many before this summer, and now they
crop up on every side like a regular pest. Well,
Queen Bess, give me the key to this red bracelet."
Elizabeth put her hand in the pocket of her
smock, only to draw it out with a gasp of dismay.
"Lost it on the dunes? My fault. I should
have offered to carry it in a safer place than
"Yes, IVe lost it," said Elizabeth hysterically.
" I ought to have put it on the ring with my engine
key. It's no use to look for it. I have a duplicate
at home but what good is it? Oh, what a fool I
She sat down on the running-board divided be-
tween laughter and dismay, but the former won,
since her companion exhibited no impatience.
" What an Elizabeth ! " he said, making her a
low bow and then looking after the vanishing car.
" Pity that we didn't discover it before our heathen
friend was beyond hearing. No doubt he would
have given us a lift to town."
" What can we do? " asked Elizabeth helplessly.
Amory examined the padlocked wheel. " I can
deflate the tire," he said, " enough to turn the lock
around so that the point is inside the rim and then
ELIZABETH LOSES SOMETHLNG 315
pump up the tire. We could drive that way, but
it would be bumpy and we'd be stopped the instant
a policeman spotted us. Hard on the tire, too."
" I don't care about that."
" We shall certainly be stopped if we try it, and
might find it difficult to explain. It's a heavenly
evening and personally I'd like nothing better than
to walk home, but we must see about the car. You
don't want it left here all night.
" Let's walk back to where the beach road cuts
the peninsula," he went on, " and find a house with
a telephone. Could you tell somebody where the
key is ? Is there any one who could bring it to us ? "
" I don't know where Father is this evening. He
would come if he has to, though he hates to drive
and hardly ever takes the wheel. How late is it? "
" Just ten."
"I'm afraid the chauffeur will be gone. We'll
try to telephone and if we can't get Dad there is
nothing to do but let the car stay where it is. Could
you drive me out early? "
" As early as you say."
" It would have to be very early for I shouldn't
want anybody to find the car. It is registered in
my name and I'd hate to have the police get hold
Elizabeth emptied the sand from her shoes and
they set off along the lonely cart-path skirting
316 JOUKNEY'S END
the dunes, over slippery grass and sliding sand.
Walking became easier when they reached the more
used road, but they passed several houses before
finding one that showed both a light and a telephone
connection. As they approached it there came the
fretful wail of a baby.
Amory rang the bell and a tired-looking young
woman answered, the crying baby in her arms.
" Yes, come in, you're welcome to telephone," she
said, opening the door. " Lots of folks has acci-
dents with their cars in that sandy stretch. Don't
mind Albert; he's getting his teeth and he cries
'most all the time. Seems like I should go crazy
She spoke with resignation as she took them into
a cluttered untidy sitting-room where a smoky kero-
sene lamp poisoned the atmosphere.
" You'd better do the telephoning," said Amory,
and Elizabeth went into the kitchen as directed.
She got her own home without difficulty and found
that her father was out and with him the chauffeur,
their whereabouts unknown. On a chance, Eliza-
beth called both the Yacht and Country Clubs but
neither had seen Mr. Emerson that evening.
Though there was a car still in the garage there
was no one who could drive to their rescue, and she
finally hung up the receiver.
On reentering the stuffy sitting-room she real-
ELIZABETH LOSES SOMETHING 317
ized that the baby had stopped crying, but was
surprised to find Amory holding it and the little
thing laughing in his face.
" It isn't often Albert takes to a stranger/' said
the gratified mother. " Usually he yells blue mur-
der if anybody tries to hold him."
" The kids are almost always good with me," said
Amory. " That was all you wanted, wasn't it, little
chap, — ^just to have a fellow sympathize over that
tooth? Hard luck in such warm weather."
" He's got such a rash over this last hot spell I
couldn't keep him quiet."
" Babies need a lot of water to drink in a hot
time," said Amory, still petting the rapturous Al-
bert. " And an extra bath helps out, doesn't it, old
sport? " He added one or two suggestions as to
summer treatment which the mother received with
" You must have a baby of your own," she ob-
"No," said Amory, entirely without embarrass-
ment, " but I am a doctor so I know about them."
" Bless and preserve us ! Here I was thinking
you just a boy, though to be sure not many boys
know how to handle a baby. I made sure you'd
one at home. I'll try the magnesia and thank you
kindly. We've lost two already and so I get worried
easy over Albert. Did you get the line. Miss? "
318 JOUKNEY'S END
The last word was added after a deliberate look
at Elizabeth's left hand, where she drew her own
conclusions with eyes glued to the lovely ring it
"Yes, thank you/' said Elizabeth, coming for-
ward from where she had paused in the doorway.
" No use," she added to Amory. " Nobody to come
"You're not far from the car-line," said the
woman, transferring her wistful gaze to Elizabeth's
youthful face, her girlish blouse and the narrow
velvet band in the dark hair. "That is, it's not
far for anybody who can step right along when
they start. I never can, for I have to lug Albert.
My man works nights, you see, so he sleeps day-
" We had better make for the electric cars," said
Amory, rising. " And many thanks for the use of
At the first motion to put him down, Albert's
lower lip began to quiver pitifully.
" But I can't sit and hold you all night," said
Amory in the exact tone he would have used to a
person of his own age. " Just get that into your
head. I'll tell you what I will do. Ask your mother
to show me where your crib is and I'll stick you
into it. Then you'll go to sleep, won't you, and let
her sleep too? '*
ELIZABETH LOSES SOMETHIN'G 319
From his contented murmurs, Albert understood
and agreed. Elizabeth stood watching, a lovely
light in her eyes. "Amory holds that child as
though it were no more weight than a little bird,"
She did not follow into the bedroom but the rea-
sonable Albert stuck to his agreement. Not a
sound came from his cot, and his mother came out
smiling as they took their leave.
" We will keep on walking till an electric over-
takes us," said Amory as he swung into step. " And
if you like, as soon as we get home, no matter how
late it is, I'll take my car and you can get the
duplicate key and we'll come back immediately.
The only trouble is that we shall have to drive back
" Then we'll drive quickly. I would rather have
the car come home to-night if we can manage it."
Elizabeth was rather silent during the brisk
walk, more so after they entered the rattling electric
which overtook them shortly after they emerged
on the highway. Before her eyes flitted a picture of
Amory, strangely out of place in the fusty little
sitting-room, and the contented baby in his arms.
On reaching home, she learned from a sleepy
maid as she rushed up to her room for the key, that
Mr. Emerson was still out. Amory went at once to
the garage at Journey's End, sending a message to
320 JOUENEY'S END
Mrs. Kussell by Lydia. Within ten minutes they
were on their way to rescue Elizabeth's car from
its solitary abandonment. As they turned down
the narrow cart-path skirting the dunes, the head-
lights threw into sharp relief a little group of fig-
ures. The sudden glare caused them to turn toward
the approaching car and Elizabeth gave a gasp of
surprise as she saw that the three men were dressed
in loose dark garments and were unmistakably Ori-
They stepped aside as the car passed. Amory
looked serious. He drove his own car beyond Eliza-
beth's roadster so that she could take the lead and
all the way up the sandy track to the beach road,
he kept almost dangerously close to her tail-light.
But the men were gone.
Only to the right, Amory caught a glimpse of a
light in a direction where he knew there was a
tumbled-down shack, long since abandoned by the
fishermen who built it.
"There's certainly something queer going on,''
he thought. "Now I wonder whether the police
know there are Chinks camping in that old hut.
It looks as though the man in the car came out to
Amory was conscious of a feeling of relief when
they emerged on the good road and could travel
faster. " Not so much fun coming back as going,"
ELIZABETH LOSES SOMETHESTG 321
he commented when both machines were safely
housed. " And I'm not sure that I want a red pad-
lock. It may keep my car from being stolen, but
what if I can't steal it myself? ''
" I never did it before and I never shall again,"
said Elizabeth, trying to preserve her dignity.
" Good-night ; I've had the best time ever.''
Mrs. Eussell was in bed but not asleep when
Amory came to her door. She bade him enter and
listened with affectionate interest to his account of
their adventures. After returning to his room, he
recalled that he had not posted the reply to Dr.
Mercer's letter and must see that it went in the
morning. For a few moments he permitted his
mind to dwell on that offer and then resolutely dis-
missed the thought. He slept soundly until nearly
daylight when he experienced a distinct and vivid
dream, something most uncommon, for as a rule
Ms sleep was dreamless.
It seemed that his Uncle Eobert entered the room
and came to his bedside as he had come in life.
He did not speak, at least Amory could recall no
spoken words, but none seemed needed. He stood
quietly, his beautiful aristocratic old face lighted
by an inward illumination which Amory remem-
bered even after waking.
But if there were no words, the message was
none the less plain. Amory became conscious first
322 JOUKNEY'S END
of a great and surrounding love, a sense of peace,
and then a conviction that he should never again
regret his decision to stay in Freeport. All other
inducements to the contrary were of no importance
and would never again appear worthy any consid-
eration. Then in the dream, his uncle raised his
hand in blessing and left the room.
The whole thing was so real and so vivid that
Amory came to full consciousness with a strong
impression that the door of his room had actually
just closed. The dawn was breaking over the har-
bor, its rosy light drifting through his open win-
dows and he lay entirely wide awake, with every
detail of the dream impressed on his memory.
" Elizabeth said that she believed Uncle Robert
knows and cares," he thought. " I never felt any-
thing like this before and only yesterday afternoon
I was wishing that I could talk with him. If I
took any stock in dreams I must believe that he yet
cares for me and that he approves of my staying
in Freeport. But I need no dream to tell me that.
It was his legacy to me, — ^his blessing and his un-
dying love. And without yielding to superstition,
I know that love outlasts death.''
IN WHICH ELIZABETH ACTS IN HASTE
WHEN Dot and Marion wrote, Elizabeth
found their letters more pleasant read-
ing than she expected and was obliged
to admit that her sisters really seemed pleased over
her engagement. The tone of half admiration in
Dorothy's note tickled Elizabeth's sense of humor.
While Mrs. Emerson decreed that the engage-
ment must not be made public until her return from
Bar Harbor, she planned to cut short her stay and
be in Freeport by the middle of September. Both
young people, she wrote, must use great discretion
until then. As soon as possible after her return, a
luncheon would be given at which the announce-
ment should be properly made. Doubtless Dr.
Eussell, or dear Amory, as she should now call him,
was anxious for an early marriage and there existed
no objection. Of course it would be preferable
were the older girls married first, but Major Lewes
was in the Philippines and Marion would not hear
of Bess waiting for her. As for Dorothy, Mrs.
Emerson was really in despair, for she seemed so
324 JOUKNEY'S END
hard to suit and yet she received more attention
than either of her sisters. Dot saw no reason why
Bess should delay, so how would an October wed-
ding suit? An autumn wedding was lovely or if it
wasn't, it was most depressing on account of
weather, but weather was always a risk. It
couldn't be counted on even in June. The ceremony
must take place in All Saints and she was already
considering the bridesmaids and their dresses.
Elizabeth took the letters in good part, for they
were affectionate and she was too supremely happy
to feel critical. She smiled a little at thought of
Major Lewes; he was such a contrast to her own
prince of lovers. Could Marion really love him as
she loved Amory? Major Lewes was fifteen years
older than her sister, rather bald, rather weary,
with the air of a man who has seen Life with a
capital letter. Elizabeth conjured a mental pic-
ture of her prospective brother-in-law to compare
with those of Amory, as she recalled him playing
tennis, or that evening on the dunes, with his fine
head and slender athletic figure clearly outlined
against the evening sky. Amory seemed sheer
muscle ; she didn't believe he permitted himself an
ounce of superfluous flesh, while Major Lewes al-
ready sat his horse heavily.
Elizabeth turned from the letters to look at
Amory's picture on her desk, one taken in uniform,
ELIZABETH ACTS IN HASTE 325
close-clipped wavy hair covering a noble head,
steady candid eyes, looking straight into hers, ut-
terly un-self -conscious, though with the suggestion
of a smile. The uniform became Amory, though
of course she had never seen him in it. He looked
like the portrait of his Uncle Robert and would,
when older, resemble it yet more.
Elizabeth had another picture, too, one begged
from Aunt Eunice, of a slender little lad with a
dreamy, shy expression and a proud dignity in the
poise of his head. That air of personal dignity was
still characteristic, but Amory's eyes no longer
dreamed. They were straightforward and frank
now, the eyes of a man who has looked upon the dif-
ficulties of life and encountered them with a clean
mind and a sweet spirit. No, Marion was welcome
to her cavalry major ; Elizabeth wondered how on
earth she could care for him.
Amory was certainly the most thoughtful of
lovers; nothing lacked Elizabeth in offerings of
flowers and candy, and she appreciated the delicacy
with which, until they were openly engaged, he
confined his gifts to those which placed her under
no obligation. He was always considerate, always
gentlemanly, though he teased her mildly and was
playful in a charming comradely w?y. Probably
Amory could have wooed a girl in no other manner,
but it chanced to be the only one that appealed to
326 JOURNEY'S END
Elizabeth. Had lie taken the least advantage of
her, frightened or repelled her in any way, she
would have shied like a wild pony, but he was never
anything but gentle, even reverent in his caresses,
and asked them as a favor rather than a right.
Ten very happy days followed their picnic on the
dunes, days in which Amory found time to sail, play
tennis and motor with Elizabeth while neglecting
neither Aunt Eunice nor his duties. One evening
he took Elizabeth to dine with the Averys, who
received her with an affection that touched her to
the heart. She wanted them to like her and went
with the intention of being her nicest self but found
it no effort whatever. The same atmosphere that
characterized Journey's End existed at Hillcrest,
and in .such simple and friendly surroundings it
was easy to respond.
One night when they had watched the sun set
from a height beyond the town, Amory asked her
quite seriously if she would like to sail out in the
early dawn and see it rise. Elizabeth agreed, bor-
rowed an alarm-clock and met him on the sea-wall
at an appallingly early hour. The harbor was cov-
ered with a white mist just beginning to curl lazily
away and the east showed faint streaks of pink and
yellow. The cool wind made Elizabeth shiver in
her heavy sweater. She was glad to help get the
Whitewing under way.
When they were headed for the outer harbor,
Amory gave her the tiller and produced from a
locker the identical T-shirt he resurrected on the
day they raced the Curlew, Elizabeth looked at
the garment without recognition, for it had since
encountered soap, hot water, and the experienced
hands of Bertha.
" You are cold," he commented ; " put this on."
Elizabeth did so and he watched with a twinkle
in his eyes. " Yes," he said, " you did it just as you
described, sleeves first and head last."
Elizabeth laughed and looked more closely at
the shirt. " How warm it is ! Is this the thing
you wore that day? But that one was very
" Lydia took it away from me and had it washed.
Then she discovered that it was Tom's and said I
must give it to Mrs. Howland. I said that it be-
longed to the Whitewing and brought it back. I
know Mrs. Howland would be willing I should keep
it and I cannot part with that old T-shirt because
though it was so very dirty, it is the thing I was
wearing when you first told me you loved me.
Don't you think Tom would like us to keep it in our
" I know he would," said Elizabeth, and then they
watched the dawn grow in wonder and peace, the
whole sky sharing its soft color and glorious prom-
328 JOURNEY'S END
ise. They looked back to see it strike tlie towi\
illuminating tree-tops and hills, catching reflections
from church windows and spires. There was little
wind and the Whitewing moved slowly on a pink
and green ocean.
" * Love that is born of the deep like the sun from
the sea/ '^ quoted Amory as he sat with one arm
around Elizabeth, watching the red orb emerge
from the waves.
Elizabeth was silent until it was well above the
horizon. ^^ This is another of your ^ big things,'
Amory," she said when the lovely delicate tints had
vanished in the light of common day.
" Isn't it great that we have so many of them
close at hand? Have you ever seen the sunrise from
a mountain top? "
" Only in Switzerland. Everybody does it there,
but never at home."
" Some night we will sleep on Chocorua at the
Inn of the Beautiful Star, — ^flat on the grass, Eliza-
beth ! And we will see the sun come up over the
hills. Now will you have some coffee? "
Amory was unscrewing a thermos bottle. " That
does taste good," Elizabeth admitted, "but it is
growing warmer every minute. And the sun looks
red, as though we should have a hot day."
" I am commissioned to bring you home to break-
fast. Aunt Eunice called me as I came down, and
ELIZABETH ACTS IN HASTE 329
it is to be early, so that is why I did not take any-
thing from Lydia's pantry. I'm glad you are a
picnicky person, Queen Bess. Some people don't
like lunching all over the landscape.''
" The rest of my family don't," admitted Eliza-
beth frankly. " Billy adores it, but the others can't
" I am going to enjoy having Billy for my little
brother. We seem to have other tastes in common
besides that of loving Elizabeth."
" You will be awfully good for him. Being the
only boy and so much younger, he's rather spoiled,
and Dad doesn't help matters much. Either he
lets him do exactly as he chooses or else hauls him
up for something that isn't serious. Billy thinks
you are great."
"I mean to deserve Billy's friendship," said
Amory, and then he took his megaphone and hailed
a passing dory. Elizabeth handled the boat while
he bought two great green lobsters.
" I suppose Lydia won't give them to us for
breakfast, and it would take too long to boil them.
Can't we have another picnic somewhere to-night
and eat 'em then? "
" I'm good for the picnic and the lobsters but not
to-night, Amory. There's the dance at the Country
Club. I'm counting on that, you know."
" Forgive me. I'd forgotten that I promised to
330 JOURNEY'S END
frivol with you this evening. And I suppose that
I'll be cut off with two or, at the most, three dances,
because of Mrs. Grundy, and I'll have to sit and
twirl my thumbs and pity the poor chap who is
dancing with you, not knowing you are mine."
" It is hard lines," laughed Elizabeth, " and if it
wasn't for Mother, I'd dance with you the whole
evening and let people say what they like. They
are talking anyway, for we have been seen together
a good deal. I'll do it if you will."
"It would delight me of course, but probably
we'd better not displease your mother. She's com-
ing very soon now and then we can be openly to-
gether. It seems ridiculous to keep up the pretence
that we are nothing to each other, and it grows
harder for me every minute. Look out, or you'U
miss the mooring."
Elizabeth's prediction of a warm day proved true.
Immediately on landing they felt the heat and by
the time breakfast was over, the air was stifling.
Lydia made a tour around Journey's End, closing
windows and blinds to keep the house cool. Eliza-
beth went home and to bed that she might be fresh
for the evening. At four Amory telephoned to ask
whether he should bring his car. By Elizabeth's
desire, he agreed to let her take hers.
The Country Club lay some distance from Free-
port, back in the hills, but commanded a lovely
ELIZABETH ACTS IN HASTE 331
view and was noted for its golf links. Even during
winter it remained an active social centre, for its
big rooms with their cheery open fires and fine
floors were attractions that drew many an after-
noon crowd bent on cards and tea, or in the evening
for a dance.
As a rule, Elizabeth did not care especially for
the doings at the Country Club with the single ex-
ception of the tennis tournaments. Her young life
had been crowded with social festivities, and the
real Elizabeth, the one who enjoyed Journey's End,
found them unsatisfying, but to-night she was ex-
tremely anxious to attend the dance, chiefly because
it was the first public entertainment to which
Amory had escorted her since that Saturday night
at the Yacht Club. Even though their engagement
was not yet known, there was a certain sweet satis-
faction in going with him, in seeing him in contrast
with other young men and comparing him favor-
ably, aware all the time of the beautiful secret
which was theirs alone.
Elizabeth bathed and dressed in a glory of happy
anticipation, said good-bye to her father, who was
playing bridge with the Townleys, where four old
cronies planned an evening together. She was just
putting the finishing touches to her dress, one se-
lected with regard to Amory's taste, when she was
summoned to the telephone.
332 JOUKNEY'S END
Three minutes later, Elizabeth came back to her
room, and Sally, arranging its disorder, stood open-
mouthed before the change in her face. Elizabeth
looked like a storm-cloud before the healing burst
of rain. Her eyes were black and angry.
" Never mind those things, Sally ; I'm not going
to the dance."
" Not going. Miss Bess? And you all ready! "
Elizabeth stopped short and stared at the maid.
Then another look crossed her face, an expression
it had not worn in weeks.
" Yes, I will go after all," she said suddenly in a
queer hard tone. "But I won't wear this dress.
Wait a minute."
The surprised maid heard her talking with some
one at the telephone. Shortly she came flying back,
tearing off her frock on the way.
" Get out my black satin with the henna embroid-
ery," she commanded, pulling the pins from her
hair. " IVe got to comb this over again."
Sally did her best to help. In a quarter of an
hour there was a ring at the door and the trans-
formed Elizabeth flew down-stairs. Even to a maid
untrained in nice distinctions there was a great
difference in the appearance of this Elizabeth in a
very daring evening gown of striking colors and
cut, and the girl who, half an hour before, looked
half -shyly into the mirror, approving the soft chif-
ELIZABETH ACTS IN HASTE 333
fon dress and smiling at the face so soon to greet
Sally looked from the window but the car was
already out of sight.
"Whatever struck Miss Bess, and she looking
so sweet in this blue? " soliloquized Sally, as she
shook out the discarded chiffon. "And the way
she's done her hair and the dress she's gone off in
is enough to make any feller look bold at her."
IN WHICH THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST
FAILII^G a sea-breeze, the night remained
stiflingly hot. About two, Mr. Emerson was
awakened by the faint sounds of Elizabeth's
return from the dance, and found it impossible to
get to sleep again. He tossed and turned, trying to
find a cool side to his pillow, and finally rose with
the intention of smoking a cigar in one of the com-
fortable porch chairs.
As he passed his daughter's open door, he was
startled to hear something like a smothered sob.
He paused to listen and the sound was repeated.
" What is the matter, Bess? '' he asked, entering
the room and going to her bedside. " Too hot to
Elizabeth made no answer but lay with face
buried in her pillow over which strayed her wavy
" Bess, what's wrong? " asked her father again,
laying a hand on the shoulder nearest. It shook
convulsively under his touch.
"Oh, Dad," moaned Elizabeth, sitting upright
and pushing away her hot hair, " I have done the
most awful thing! I don't know what you will
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 335
think of me, but youll have to know, and so will
Amory, and it half kills me to think of telling you."
" Well, you might as well have it over with," ob-
served Mr. Emerson kindly. " I can stand a good
deal. Do you mind if I light this cigar? "
"No," said Elizabeth, and then she was silent
while he struck his match. " It is the worst thing
I ever did. Dad, and you will be angry with me,"
she began miserably, when the light had flickered
" Have you and Amory quarreled? " inquired her
father, settled at ease in Elizabeth's lounging chair.
" I haven't seen him since morning," said Eliza-
beth in a low tone. She was lying back now, a wet
ball of handkerchief in one hand, every curve of
her slender girlish body showing dejection.
" You haven't? " asked her father in surprise.
" I thought he took you to the dance. Well, go on.
Tell me what has happened."
"He did intend to take me," began Elizabeth.
" I was entirely dressed and ready when he tele-
phoned. He seemed very much upset and excited
and in a great hurry. The connection was poor and
I did not quite understand what had happened,
except that he was called to somebody who was
very ill and could not take me io the Country Club.
I couldn't get the name of the person though he
told me. I asked if it was one of his regular pa-
336 JOUENEY'S END
tients and lie said it was for the first time. It did
seem to me that he might say he had an engagement
and tell the person to call another doctor. But
Amory would not even stop to talk to me. He said
he was very sorry to disappoint me and would see
me as soon as he could, but he couldn't delay an-
other second. And then he rang off before I could
say another word."
" What next? " asked Mr. Emerson, for Elizabeth
relapsed into silence.
" I saw his car go, very fast, and he did not wave
to me nor even look to see whether I was watching.
I was so disappointed, Dad, for I had set my heart
on going with him to-night. And it seemed to me
that he wasn't very considerate. I thought it over
and decided that as long as our engagement wasn't
announced, Amory couldn't blame me if I went
with somebody else and I called up Clive Temple-
ton and asked him to go with me."
" Humph ! " grunted her father.
"Oh!" said Elizabeth with a little wail, "that
is nothing to what happened later ! Clive was de-
lighted and came over at once and I took him in
my car. I felt as though I didn't care what I did.
It is all Mother's fault for not letting me tell people
I was engaged."
" This is about as clear as mud at present, Bess,
but go on. I'm listening."
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 337
Elizabetli spread out her soaked handkercliief
and looked at it distastefully.
" I didn^t appreciate that by asking Clive I gave
him a sort of claim on me and he took advantage
of it. I see now that he had a right to assume that
I wanted to be monopolized, and he was in a wild
mood, and I didn't care. We went rather far, Dad.
I danced as I would never do with Amory."
" I'm afraid you have been a silly little girl/' said
her father reflectively.
" Before the evening was over I was ashamed but
I couldn't manage Clive as well as usual. Finally
I insisted on coming home. He sulked but gave in
at last. It was about one and because there were
few cars out I drove pretty fast. Clive was acting
like an idiot and I wanted to get rid of him. Just
as we came into the square, he tried to kiss me,"
Elizabeth stopped short.
"Well, what did you smash? " asked her father.
" I jerked away from him," confessed Elizabeth,
"and somehow jerked the wheel as well and we
plunged directly into the drug-store window.
There was a fearful crash and Clive went over the
side of the car."
" I hope he broke his neck," said Mr. Emerson
" No such luck," sighed Elizabeth. " The next I
knew there were men about and two policemen.
338 JOUElSrEY'S EISTD
The druggist plastered Clive up ; he got some cuts
but not serious ones. I wasn't hurt at all. It is a
miracle how we could have made such a smash and
not been cut to pieces. The drug-store window is
wrecked, the car is in Prince's garage with the
lamps and right wheel-guard and radiator stove in,
and I am under orders to appear before a magis-
trate to-morrow at ten, — to-day, I mean, — ^to answer
a charge of reckless driving.''
With the last words she buried her face in the
pillow. Her father surveyed her thoughtfully and
had Elizabeth been able to see his face in the dim
room she would have read about his mouth a slight
expression of amusement.
" You are a naughty girl, Bess," he said at length,
" and I think you got what you deserved. I will go
to court with you and I will pay the fine and settle
the damage to the drug-store, although that may
come out of the insurance company, but you can
pay for repairing your car from your own allow-
ance. And you will have to square yourself with
Amory ; no one can do that for you."
Elizabeth sat up with a despairing wave of her
hands. " You are too good to me, Dad," she said
tearfully. "I don't deserve it. But the very
thought of Amory's knowing makes me sick all
over. I can't bear it ! What shall I say to him? ''
" If you take my advice, you'll tell him the un-
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 339
varnished truth. I don't think he'll stand for any-
" But what will he think of me? " moaned poor
" That is your worst punishment, my little girl,"
said her father affectionately. " You won't have
an enjoyable quarter of an hour. But Amory is
big enough to forgive you though he won't be hu-
man if he isn't angry. By the way, I can tell you
for whom he left you in the lurch and it's a pity
you didn't understand when he told you. I heard
just as I was coming home. Henry Avery was
taken with acute indigestion or ptomaine poison-
ing or something of that kind and he had a mighty
'^ Mr, Avery f exclaimed Elizabeth. "That is
the last straw! Oh, if I had only understood the
name ! Of course Amory had to go ; he thinks every-
thing of the Averys. What a selfish beast he must
believe me ! Daddy, that really is more than I can
bear ! "
Elizabeth relapsed into helpless tears and would
be comforted by nothing.
" Where do you keep your handkerchiefs? " Mr.
Emerson finally asked, blundering about her dress-
ing-table. " In this basket thing? Here, take this.
Now I am going down to the pantry and see if I
can rustle some iced lemonade. While I am gone.
340 JOUKNEY'S END
Bess, I wish you'd get up and take a cold bath.
This is a bad mess, I admit, but I can't see that cry-
ing will mend matters and you'll make yourself
sick. Be a sport and take all that's coming to
"It will be in the papers to-morrow,'' sobbed
Elizabeth, grasping the welcome handkerchief.
" Two reporters turned up."
Mr. Emerson frowned. He had forgotten this
" Well, I'll stand by you," he said after mutter-
ing something that sounded profane. "I'll do
everything I can to help, and just to please me,
won't you stop crying? "
"I'll try," choked Elizabeth, and during her
father's absence she did get up and take a cold
shower and braid her disordered hair. When he
returned with two glasses tinkling invitingly, she
was again in bed and quite calm.
" There," he said, " drink this and then kiss me
and go to sleep."
Elizabeth obeyed the first and second injunctions
but found the third impossible. She lay until day-
light with burning eyes wide open, though bravely
resisting the inclination to further tears.
She heard nothing at all from Amory, which was
not surprising, since he remained by Mr. Avery's
side till six in the morning, and then he supposed
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 341
her asleep and did not think of calling her. He
went to bed in Putnam's room so completely worn
out that Mrs. Avery had not wakened him at the
hour when Elizabeth and her father started for
Elizabeth showed surprisingly little trace of her
past emotion. The curious observers in the court-
room, the reporters who had turned up because of
the prominence of the young people involved, saw
nothing of her face, for she had put on a figured
white veil, almost opaque.
The magistrate was considerate though stem.
He called Elizabeth to his desk and conducted his
examination in a low tone of voice.
"How fast were you driving. Miss Emerson?"
he inquired when the police officers and the drug-
gist had given their versions of the story.
" I don't precisely know. It was faster than I
should have done had there been more traffic on the
" But you were exceeding the legal limit for the
Elizabeth frankly admitted it.
" Did you have your car under control? "
"I did," she answered, not seeing where his
queries were tending.
" Will you kindly put up your veil? Now," he
went on, as she reluctantly complied, " if you had
342 JOUElSrEY'S END
control of your car how did it happen that you so
suddenly lost it? The witnesses agree that though
traveling fast the car was going straight until it
reached Tracy's corner when it turned at an acute
angle. What happened? "
"My companion did something that startled
me/' Elizabeth replied almost inaudibly.
" And what did he do? " asked the judge.
Elizabeth glanced appealingly at her father who
looked grim and forbidding. Then a flash of her
usual spirit returned. " I don't think I am obliged
to tell you," she said quietly, " and no gentleman
would insist on an answer."
The judge smiled in spite of himself. " We will
waive the question," he said. " The maximum fine.
Miss Emerson, and a second arrest for speeding
will mean the revocation of your license."
Mr. Emerson took out a roll of bills and paid the
fine. Elizabeth pulled down her veil and they left
the court-room and went out to the waiting car.
" Drop me at the of&ce, John," said her father,
" and then take Miss Elizabeth home. Do you want
John to go round to Prince's and see what the dam-
age to your machine amounts to? " he added to his
" Perhaps he had better," agreed Elizabeth, bit-
ing her lips to keep back the tears. " Will you be
home for luncheon? "
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 343
" No, I am going to Boston and I may not be
back even for dinner, but I will telephone you if I
find I cannot come. Stop here, John ; there's a man
I want to see. Good-bye, Bess ; better take a nap if
you can snatch one."
After a struggle with her pride, Elizabeth tele-
phoned to Journey's End intending to confess the
whole affair to Amory, but learned from Lydia that
he was still at Hillcrest and would be wakened
only in time to come home for his o£Q.ce hour. The
tears came as Elizabeth hung up the receiver. She
would have no chance to tell him now until late in
" What beastly luck ! " she thought. " Every
possible thing is going wrong with me. I believe a
jinx has camped on my trail."
Clive telephoned but Elizabeth refused to speak
to him. She lay on the couch in her room, the
gentian-colored ring pressed comfortingly against
her cheek. No doubt Amory would be angry with
her, but in the end he would forgive her and she
longed for that moment.
Jinx or mere bad luck, it was certainly unfor-
tunate that her sincere intention to confess was
I>osti>oned. Amory heard the news from other lips
than hers and from more than one source.
Mrs. Avery gave him luncheon and after a final
visit to Uncle Henry, white, wan, but entirely out of
344 JOUKKEY'S END
danger, Amory drove home, stopping for an errand
at Tracy's drug-store where the wrecked window
could not fail to catch his eye. To a query as to
the cause, Amory heard a tale which gave him keen
distress. To hear Elizabeth's name coupled with
that of Clive Templeton, and both involved in a
discreditable accident, was sufficiently painful
without the numerous highly colored details thrown
in by druggist and bystanders. He kept both face
and manner under control and no one could guess
that he had any personal interest in the affair, but
as he went out to his car, his lips were sternly set.
While he did not credit all the details profusely
furnished, there was only too much that he feared
Before reaching home he was stopped by Brooks
Palmer, who laughingly asked whether he knew
that Bess Emerson had broken loose again. Aunt
Eunice, however, seemed to have heard nothing and
to be concerned only for the Averys. Amory an-
swered her questions and then turned to his next
duty, hoping that his patients would not be numer-
ous. He was yet tired from his night's vigil and to
hear these tales of Elizabeth was far from easy or
Two of his patients brought him varied versions
of the same and though he did not in the least en-
courage or even respond to their gossip, he waB
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 345
forced to acknowledge to himself, witli real sadness,
that they seemed glad to speak ill of Elizabeth.
This realization came to him with a shock.
Having shown out the second tattling old lady,
who considered as she walked away that Dr. Eus-
sell's manner was not so engaging as reported,
Amory looked into the waiting-room, supposing it
to be empty, but found one more person to see him.
The first glance brought a feeling of surprise,
for he was Amory's second Chinese patient, but it
was followed by one of interest, for the man was in
Unlike his previous caller, he was neither well-
dressed nor well-educated, but elderly, worn, and
with a face that told of privation and hardship. He
did not even speak English except brokenly, but
few words were needed to explain the hand which
he drew from a covering handkerchief, swollen and
angry with a serious infection which had begun as
a painful felon.
Amory worked for half an hour, applying a local
anesthetic, lancing, dressing, bandaging, every mo-
tion sure and certain. His caller watched in si-
lence, with inscrutable eyes bent on his own toil-
worn fingers and Amory's delicate sensitive ones.
" How much? " he asked abruptly when the oper-
ation was completed.
Amory gave him another glance. He might or
346 JOUKNEY'S END
might not have a fat bank account, one could never
tell, but his clothes indicated extreme poverty, and
his face suffering of some kind.
" That's all right," he said pleasantly. " We
will call it even. If it gets painful again, come back
and let me see it. And you must keep it clean,
clean, you understand. I will give you some dis-
The man took the bottle but after listening to
the directions, yet lingered.
" You'll be all right now," said Amory in a tone
of dismissal. He was desperately weary and
wanted to be alone.
The man thanked him and started to go. At the
door he hesitated and half turned. " You good to
me," he said abruptly. " You know about Tong? "
" Tong? " queried Amory. " Is he some China-
His visitor looked around half-fearfully, and
made a curious motion in the air, reminding Amory
of the familiar Italian gesture against the evil eye.
" Not man," he said in a low tone. " You look out
for Tong. Tong very strong. Not mean to hurt
anybody unless you get in way. Better take care."
" Look here," said Amory, interested but puzzled,
" what are you driving at, brother? Do you know
anything about the Chinese callers we have already
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 347
The face of his visitor became inscrutable. " Not
know anything," he said blandly. "Better let
Tong take it. Have it anyway. Good-bye, velly
He was gone almost before he stopped speaking.
Under other circumstances this conversation would
have interested Amory immensely, but his mind was
too full of Elizabeth to pay much attention to it.
He tucked it away as something to consider later,
but as he cleaned the instruments just used he was
thinking of her.
Before he finished. Bell knocked and came in.
"Miss Emerson is in the east parlor," she said.
" She wants to see you when it is convenient."
" Tell her I will be there immediately. Where is
my aunt? "
" Mrs. Russell hasn't come down-stairs yet."
Amory put away his instruments and washed
his hands. He felt sure the interview was going to
be trying and his great love for Elizabeth did not
prevent his feeling critical over her indiscretion,
annoyed because she had made herself so con-
When he entered the east parlor, she stood al-
most in its centre, looking so woe-begone and
wretched that Amory completely forgot his indigna-
tion and started to take her in his arms. Elizabeth
waved him back and thereby made her first mis-
348 JOUENEY'S END
take. " Don't touch me," she said. " Don't come
near me. Sit down over there."
She spoke imperiously and the tone hurt Amory.
" I shall not sit unless you do," he said.
Elizabeth flung herself into a chair on the oppo-
site side of the room. ^^Have you heard?" she
"About your accident last night? Yes, from
several sources, but I am waiting to hear from you
what really happened. I'm unspeakably thankful
you weren't hurt."
Elizabeth told her story, not sparing herself in
the least, and her curt sentences made her appear
unfeeling. The truth was worse than Amory antici-
pated and when she finished he looked white. She
stated the bald facts and did not add a single word
of regret or penitence, which was her second mis-
take. At one syllable of the kind, Amory would
have crossed the room at once, but her voice and
attitude were defiant, more so than Elizabeth real-
ized. She did not understand that his absolute
quietness was the direct result of her own manner.
" I am sorry," he said at length. " I suppose you
had a perfect right to go with Templeton since I
could not take you. Had it been any one but Uncle
Amory stopped. Half the night he had fought
single-handed with a grim adversary for Henry
THINGS HAPPEN THICK AND FAST 349
Avery^s life and the recollection of that conflict
made the dance at the Country Club appear trivial.
" I did not understand who was ill," said Eliza-
beth. " Of course you had to go."
"Yes," assented Amory and again he stopped,
for she had spoken even those words ungraciously.
After a pause he went on. " Is there really any
need of our discussing the matter, Elizabeth? If
you wanted to go to the dance badly enough to ask
Templeton to take you, and if you really like the
sort of things it involved, I don^t believe there is
very much to be said."
Elizabeth flared up. " Do you mean to say you
don^t care what I do? "
" Of course I care. You seem to be the one who
Amory was angry but poor Elizabeth did not
know it. Accustomed to a family which spoke its
mind openly and irritably whenever annoyed, she
did not appreciate that his quiet manner and white
face indicated any special feeling. She thought him
cold and he was, but not through indifference.
" Had our engagement been announced, I would
not have gone. I thought since no one knew, there
was no harm."
" I understand that," said Amory" quietly.
" That was all right. What I don't understand is
your permitting Templeton to take such liberties."
350 JOURNEY'S END
^'Permit him? It was trying to stop him that
made me wreck the car."
" Before that — during the dance."
Elizabeth looked at him angrily. " I told you
we made ourselves conspicuous."
" So I heard," said Amory wearily. More than
one description of that dance had come to his ears.
" Let's not talk about it, Elizabeth," he said, rising
as he spoke.
" I can't leave it here," she began, and then stung
by his very calm, said much more than she meant,
losing her temper completely as she made no
impression whatever upon his apparent composure.
She stopped abruptly in the middle of an angry
speech when Mrs. Russell suddenly entered the
room, the evening paper crushed in one hand. Her
face was pale and her manner agitated.
" Amory ! " she exclaimed, looking from one to
the other. " My poor Elizabeth ! "
She caught her breath sharply and wavered.
With two steps Amory was at her side and saved
her from falling. " It wanted only this ! " he mut-
On the front page of the paper as it dropped to
the floor, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of her own
IN WHICH AUNT EUNICE CONSIDERS AMOEY STUBBORN
AN hour later Amory sat beside Ms aunt as
slie lay on the couch in the west sitting-
room. She was practically herself again,
for the seizure, while more sudden, had not been so
acute as the previous one. Now she was perfectly
calm and wished to talk, a desire from which her
nephew dissuaded her.
During those first anxious moments Amory had
been conscious of Elizabeth's agonized face as she
tried to render assistance, but only as an accessory
in the background, for every power of his being
was concentrated on Mrs. Russell. He really could
not say at what point Elizabeth disappeared,
though he thought it was not until his aunt became
conscious. At any rate she was gone.
He sat stroking gently the hand he held, his eyes
bent on the sweet face before him.
" Would thee like me to carry thee to thy room?"
he asked at length, " or is thee equally comfortable
852 JOUKNEY'S END
"I will remain here for the present, though I
feel well again. I cannot be at ease, Amory, untD
thee permits me to say what is on my miad."
" Then say it, dear Aunt Eunice."
"Elizabeth — ^thee has been gentle with her?
Poor child, I know she is suffering."
" I have said almost nothing to her."
" But thee was angry, Amory. I read thy face
in that one glance."
" She did not know. I told her that I thought
we had better not discuss the affair."
" Thee cannot set it aside that way, Amory."
" Not finally, but we can wait until we can talk
Mrs. Eussell was silent for a moment. " I fear it
would have been wiser not to put her off. Eliza-
beth is impetuous and acts on impulse. I wish thee
had been affectionate with her."
" She would not let me touch her, Aunt Eunice.
It was her choice to have the room between us."
" I think thee could have disregarded that prohi-
bition," said his aunt after another pause. " That
would have been wiser, but how was thee to know?
Perhaps it will be as well for you both to have an
interval for reflection. I did not think, when I
bade thee remember thy own faults while judging
Elizabeth's, that thee would have such serious oc-
casion. My heart goes out to her, for I know how
CONSIDERS AMORY STUBBORN 353
bitterly she will repent, and thy face does not indi-
cate unqualified forgiveness."
" I can forgive Elizabeth much, but not for being
the cause of thy seizure, Aunt Eunice."
"Amory, thee must hold thy love for Elizabeth
above all other earthly affection."
" I have loved her but a short time. I cannot
remember when I did not love thee."
" It is plain thee is wise in desiring time for re-
flection," said Mrs. Russell after a time. "Ah,
Amory, thee was stubborn as a boy ; thee can be so
Her nephew made no reply.
" Thee and Elizabeth alone must adjust things ;
no one can do it for you." Then she spoke again,
quoting softly, more to herself than to Amory.
** *If there are any shades in God's deep love,
I do believe His deepest love goes out
To the tormented, irresponsible,
Gay, eager, burning, foolish heart of youth.' "
" Let me carry thee up-stairs. Aunt Eunice," said
Amory, after a silence that seemed likely to last
indefinitely. " Indeed, thee is not too heavy. Re-
member that I stand five foot ten and thee only
reaches my shoulder."
" Thee may do so, dear. I did not think years
ago, when I carried a sleepy little child up to bed.
354 JOURNEY'S END
that some day lie would carry me over tlie same
stairs. Thee is like thy uncle, Amory ; most men of
unusual physical strength are gentle to women and
" Shall I send Lydia to thee? " asked her nephew
when he had placed her on the couch in her own
" Not just yet. Stay with me but a moment."
Amory knelt beside her as he had done on the day
of his return.
"Don't worry about Elizabeth, Aunt Eunice.
The moment she asks my forgiveness it is hers, but
under the circumstances the least she can do is to
" Thee will know more about women some day.
I would advise thee to forgive her before she asks.
I know Elizabeth and I am fearful that she will do
something desperate simply through reaction
against this escapade."
" I should think this would last her for a time,"
" Thee and Elizabeth will have mutually to bear
and forbear like all young people. Give her my
dear love, Amory. I wish she would come to me,
for I would not have her feel she caused my illness."
" I am afraid there is no denying that she did,
and I cannot let thee see her to-night. Thee must
have no further agitation. When the right mo-
CONSIDEES AMORY STUBBORN 367
ment comes, and I don't think it will be this e\3ek
ing, I will be all thee wishes toward Elizabetm
except that I will not forgive her for indirectl^l
making thee ill."
" Amory, thee promised not to judge."
" I won't except where some one hurts thee."
" I must make thee the subject of my prayer as
well as Elizabeth. Thee would be more than hu-
man if thee did not feel tried with her, but we all
need forgiveness so much that we must be quick to
forgive others. I trust thee will rest to-night and
that the morning may bring wisdom to both thee
and Elizabeth. Thee has had much in the past
twenty-four hours that has been hard to bear. Is
thee going again to Hillcrest? "
"I shall drive up for a look at Uncle Henry,
though he no longer needs me. I will go to bed
early and I think I shall sleep, for I am tired."
"And thee has had no dinner. Go down at once,
Amory. I had not realized I was keeping thee so
" Dinner ! " said Amory. " I don't feel as though
I wanted any, but I suppose Til have to eat to
Lydia indeed awaited him anxiously in the lower
hall, her face a picture of distress. Amory sent her
to his aunt, saying he would ring, for Bell if he
needed attention. He took the opportunity as he
354: JOURNEY'S END
that some day lie would carry me over tlie same
stairs. Thee is like thy uncle, Amory ; most men of
unusual physical strength are gentle to women and
" Shall I send Lydia to thee? " asked her nephew
when he had placed her on the couch in her own
" Not just yet. Stay with me but a moment."
Amory knelt beside her as he had done on the day
of his return.
" Don't worry about Elizabeth, Aunt Eunice.
The moment she asks my forgiveness it is hers, but
under the circumstances the least she can do is to
" Thee will know more about women some day.
I would advise thee to forgive her before she asks.
I know Elizabeth and I am fearful that she will do
something desperate simply through reaction
against this escapade."
" I should think this would last her for a time,"
" Thee and Elizabeth will have mutually to bear
and forbear like all young people. Give her my
dear love, Amory. I wish she would come to me,
for I would not have her feel she caused my illness."
" I am afraid there is no denying that she did,
and I cannot let thee see her to-night. Thee must
have no further agitation. When the right mo-
CONSIDEKS AMOKY STUBBOKN
ment comes, and I don^t think it will be this e\^
ing, I will be all thee wishes toward Elizabet'
except that I will not forgive her for indirectl;
making thee ill."
" Amory, thee promised not to judge."
" I won't except where some one hurts thee."
" I must make thee the subject of my prayer as
well as Elizabeth. Thee would be more than hu-
man if thee did not feel tried with her, but we all
need forgiveness so much that we must be quick to
forgive others. I trust thee will rest to-night and
that the morning may bring wisdom to both thee
and Elizabeth. Thee has had much in the past
twenty-four hours that has been hard to bear. Is
thee going again to Hillcrest? "
"I shall drive up for a look at Uncle Henry,
though he no longer needs me. I will go to bed
early and I think I shall sleep, for I am tired."
"And thee has had no dinner. Go down at once,
Amory. I had not realized I was keeping thee so
" Dinner ! " said Amory. " I don't feel as though
I wanted any, but I suppose I'll have to eat to
Lydia indeed awaited him anxiously in the lower
hall, her face a picture of distress. Amory sent her
to his aunt, saying he would ring, for Bell if he
needed attention. He took the opportunity as he
his lonely meal to look at the paper which had
^en the immediate cause of Mrs. EusselFs attack.
The reporter who covered the incident was
'pleased to treat it facetiously, making much of the
social prominence of the two involved, representing
Elizabeth as ignoring her wrecked car in solicitude
for her companion, and more than insinuating the
existence of tender relations between them. Mi-
nute biographical details were furnished, together
with an account of the proceedings before the mag-
istrate, and the article was illustrated by photo-
graphs of both Clive and Elizabeth obtained at
some charity festival the previous winter, and by a
snapshot of the demolished window and damaged
It was enough to disgust a far less fastidious man
than Amory, but strangely enough, for the first
time since Elizabeth repulsed his attempt to take
her in his arms, he felt sorry for her, appreciated
that though it was a bitter pill to him, to her it
must be nauseous. At the same moment came a
realization that her manner, defiant in the extreme,
had only been that of a child who has been so ex-
ceedingly naughty that it doesn't care what it does.
Were he absolutely sure he could trust himself,
Amory would have gone to Elizabeth at once and
straightened the matter, but he was tired physically
and troubled mentally. His lifelong training led
CONSIDEKS AMOKY STUBBOKN 357
him to reflect before taking definite action, to seek
the inner guidance, and he stuck to his opinion
that it was better to give Elizabeth time to cool
Having finished his dinner he drove to the
Averys'. Unlike Journey's End, Hillcrest was far
from the water, commanding a wonderful sweep of
sea and sky. Several newly-made millionaires cov-
eted the site and were openly aggrieved that it
seemed without price.
Amory left his car at a side door and entered the
house without ringing. He went directly to the big
front room where Mr. Avery lay in bed, white and
weak from his ordeal of the previous night. He
was alone, with gaze bent on the distant sea. On
the other side of that blue expanse Putnam was
sleeping on the Field of Honor. As Amory came
in he looked at him with a smile that had in it a
touch of wistful affection.
"How are you, Uncle Henry?" asked Amory,
sitting down in a most unprofessional manner on
the side of the bed and taking in both his own the
hand outstretched to greet him.
" Very glad to see my special physician and very
proud of you, Amory," was the quiet answer. " I
gave you a tough job and you put it through."
"I'm mighty thankful I could help you," said
Amory simply. " While Freeport is rather limited
358 JOURNEY'S END
as a field, it is worth wMle because of tlie service I
can be to a few."
Henry Avery's eyes rested on bim with a curious
intentness. " I don't think you will ever regret
your decision to practise in Freeport. And mind,
Amory, when you send your bill, make it equivalent
to the appreciation I feel."
Amory laughed. " It will be a distant day when
you get a bill from me, Uncle Henry. There are
two classes to whom I mean to give gratuitous serv-
ice all my life ; the extremely poor and the people I
love. I'd as soon send a bill to Aunt Eunice as to
you ! "
Mr. Avery smiled. " I am willing to be indebted,
Amory," he said quietly. " I knew last night that
my physician was inspired by affection as well as
skill. I wish Robert had lived to see you
After a pause he went on. " I hope you had an
easy day after your strenuous time with me."
Amory was still sitting on the bed. He drew up
one ankle and clasped it in a boyish manner. " I
had a funny customer this afternoon," he said, " a
Chinese. Uncle Henry, did you ever hear of a
Mr. Avery considered. "I think I have heard
the word, but I can't recall how nor where. In
what connection was it usedf ^
CONSIDEKS AMOKY STUBBOKN 359
Amory related the conversation which took place
in his ofQ.ce.
" That was some sort of warning, Amory," said
Mr. Avery in surprise.
"I am sure the old codger intended it as a
kindness, but I'll be hanged if I understand
what he was driving at. I suspect that though
he really came to have his hand attended to,
he knew about the queer doings at Journey's
" Tong," mused Mr. Avery. " Hold on, it is com-
ing to me. Why, Amory, that is the Chinese name
for a secret society or brotherhood. Years ago
there was a murder here in Freeport, when the pro-
prietor of the Chinese restaurant was killed, and it
was due to his having in some way disobeyed the
Tong to which he belonged. There was consider-
able discussion at the time — ^you would not remem-
ber because you were too young — but I recall that
I then learned that there are numerous Tongs,
some very powerful, existing in all classes of Chi-
nese society. You didn't get any hint as to why
one of these brotherhoods has become interested in
Journey's End? "
" Only that the Tong wanted ' it,' whatever * it '
is, and he advised me to let them have ^it.' He
distinctly said that they intended me no harm un-
less I got in the way."
360 JOUKNEY'S END
" What is there in the east parlor likely to inter-
est a Chinese? "
" The vases or possibly the ivory dragon on the
mantel. But both have stood there all my life and
why on earth should any Chinese society suddenly
develop an interest in either? "
" That I can't explain, but I do know that under
a thin veneer of civilization they are a strange na-
tion, full of superstition. Perhaps your first vis-
itor, the one who disappeared so oddly, was inter-
ested in that dragon and has told others."
" Well ! " said Amory, suddenly recollecting his
sister's letters. " Caroline wrote me an insane lot
of gibberish about an amulet and an evil spirit.
What do you think of all that? " he inquired, hav-
ing given a synopsis of those letters.
" Just as you do, that this is the twentieth cen-
tury and we are far removed from evil sorcerers
and familiar demons. But because we do not be-
lieve does not prevent others from being credulous,
and as I said, the Chinese are extraordinarily su-
perstitious, particularly in their belief in devils.
It would not surprise me, putting together Caro-
line's fantastic story and the warning from your
patient to-day, to find that the dragon is of peculiar
interest to some Tong, whose members wish to ob-
tain possession of it."
" If I were superstitious, I might think it had an
CONSIDEKS AMORY STUBBORN 361
evil eye, and it is strange how I broke tlie glass and
Lydia broke her finger and then I fell down-stairs
and sprained my ankle "
He stopped short. There was a fresh calamity
to add to the list. In that room, in the presence of
the dragon, he had held his fateful interview with
Elizabeth and Mrs. Russell experienced her ill turn.
"The accidents are merely coincidences," said
Mr. Avery, " but it is an unfortunate thing to en-
counter superstition in others. Has your burglar
alarm been put in? "
" Not yet. There is some unexpected delay ; wire
lacking, I understand."
"And do you and Eunice place any great value
on the dragon? "
" I don't, and I am certain she has no affection
" Then I would get it out of Journey's End ; in
fact, I should speed its going. Why not lend it to
the Boston Art Museum? It is a fine piece of carv-
ing, and they would doubtless be glad to exhibit it."
" That's a bright idea. Uncle Henry. I believe I
will write and ask if they would care to have it.
Your theory sounds plausible, but I'd be interested
to know more about the Tong and lohy they want
the dragon, if that's what they are after. Oh,
here's Aunt Ruth."
"I did not know you came, Amory," said Mrs.
362 JOUKNEY'S END
Avery. ' ; 5t noticed your car and cook told me
you had been iiere half an hour, so I hurried to see
whether you and Henry were just having a visit or
whether he needed you."
"We were only talking, and it is time I went.
Aunt Eunice was not feeling very well."
" Not serious, I hope? " asked Mr. Avery.
" She is herself now and was resting when I left.
Good-night, Uncle Henry.^^
" Good-night, my son. I feel the better for your
visit. Euth, I should like to see the evening paper."
" I will bring it presently," said Mrs. Avery in a
voice which told Amory volumes. When they were
in the hall she turned and embraced him.
" I am so sorry," she said gently, " so sorry for
both you and Elizabeth, but more so for her. I am
greatly drawn to Elizabeth and I know it will be a
terrible thing to her to have hurt you, Amory, for
this is hard for you. But, dear, we were all young
once, and we make allowances for youthful gaiety
and folly. In a short time this will be forgotten,
and, indeed, I cannot see that there is anything to
criticize except a little indiscretion. But I am
troubled, Amory, because I fear that you were in-
tending to take Elizabeth to the dance and that
Henry's illness prevented your going."
"Nothing could induce me to go when I was
needed here. Thank you. Aunt Ruth — you are a
CONSIDERS AMORY STUBBORN 363
brick to stand by Elizabeth. I do feel sore about it
and I can't relieve my feelings by pitching into
Templeton because the engagement wasn't public.
Since I couldn't take her, Elizabeth had a perfect
right to go with him if she wished, and the rest was
merely bad luck. It is pretty sickening, but we
shall pull through."
He kissed her and went directly home. As he
drove into the garage he looked longingly at the
house next door, but no one was on the porch and
the windows were blank. Having put up his car,
he went to his office, intending to take something
for Mrs. Russell's use should she be wakeful. To
his surprise there lay conspicuously on his desk a
large square envelope. On its exterior in Eliza-
beth's penmanship was written : " Do not try to
Amory opened the envelope and from it fell the
sapphire ring he had given Elizabeth.
IN WHICH ELIZABETH REPENTS VERY MUCH AT HBB
ACCORDING to liis promise, Mr. Emerson
stood by his daughter loyally, but he would
have been well on the way toward sainthood
had he not been annoyed by the newspaper public-
ity. True, he knew it imminent and was in a way
prepared, but when the shock came, it was none the
less disagreeable. Even the Boston papers took up
Coming out on the five o'clock train from town,
Mr. Emerson was obliged to endure numerous com-
ments, most of them humorous, upon his daughter's
latest escapade, and he was too sore to realize that
none were intentionally unkind. That a high-spir-
ited athletic girl, impatient of restraint, should
overstep the bounds of good taste, was to outsiders
a mere matter of amusement, not the serious affair
it seemed to those involved in the catastrophe. Mr.
Emerson put on a good face and none of the men
who chaffed him in the smoker during the run to
Freeport suspected that he was particularly rujffled.
ELIZABETH KEPENTS 365
He was suf6.ciently out of temper on reaching the
house to be relieved to hear that Elizabeth had
gone to bed with a severe headache and would not
come down again.
Her indisposition was no pretence; she was
frankly sick and spent an uncomfortable night
physically and a worse one mentally. When Mr.
Emerson looked in upon her after breakfast the
next morning his indignation vanished at sight of
" Why, Bess, my little girl," he said sympathetic-
Elizabeth took his hand and laid her hot cheek
against it. She was literally unable to lift her
" I wouldn't feel so badly," he went on, smooth-
ing her hair as he spoke. " It will all blow over in
a few days."
His daughter made no response but lay with eyes
closed, her long lashes dark against a perfectly
^^After all, Bess, I'll stand for the damages to
your car. They'll set you back a couple of hun-
dred. Send the bill to me."
Elizabeth kissed his hand and tried to smile.
" No, Dad, I'll pay them myself. But will you let
me go away? "
" To Bar Harbor? " queried her father.
366 JOURNEY'S END
"Anywhere but there ! " said Elizabeth with a
shudder. "No, to the farm in the Berk-
" There's nobody there but the farmer and his
wife. You wouldn't like it."
" I want to get away from Freeport."
" Well, we'll see. You aren't fit to go anywhere
at present. I don't like your looks at all. Let me
telephone Amory to come over."
Elizabeth sat up suddenly. "If you do. Dad,
I'll — I'll go out and drown myself ! " she announced
desperately and, to the consternation of her father,
fell back in a dead faint.
" Bless my soul ! " he exclaimed, and, man-like,
called for help. None of the maids happened to be
within hearing. Mr. Emerson blundered into
Elizabeth's bathroom and, after upsetting and de-
molishing a bottle of toilet water, discovered one
of ammonia, which proved effective. Elizabeth
pushed it from her with a gasp.
" Now, look here, Bess," said her father gravely,
when she was herself again, "you are making a
mountain out of a mole-hill. You haven't done
anything bad enough to make yourself ill over.
What's come to you? Why shouldn't Amory come
and see you in my presence even though you are in
bed? He's a doctor and I'm your father. What's
ELIZABETH REPENTS 367
" I have broken my engagement," said Elizabeth
Her father was silent for a moment. "I sup-
pose you know what you are doing," he said at
length, "but I can tell you that Amory Russell
is not a man with whom you can play fast and
loose. He is as proud as Lucifer. You say
you broke it. Did he accept the break without
"I don't know. I sent back my ring and told
him not to try to see me."
" Oh, Lord ! " groaned Mr. Emerson, " what fools
young people can be ! Bess, you certainly are one,
and I suppose if I should hear the whole story,
Amory is also."
" Dad," said Elizabeth, " I really cannot stand it
if you disapprove of me any harder."
" Well, promise me one thing, Bess. Promise
that you won't go out of town without my knowl-
" Very well," said his daughter.
"And if you won't see Amory, will you let me
call Dr. Utter? "
" No doctor can help me. Dad."
" One could," said her father sententiously.
" Have it as you please, Bess, but if you care for my
advice, it is not to wreck your life's happiness
through a fit of recklessness. And if I don't find
368 JOtJENEY'S END
you looking better at noon I shall send for Utter
whether you like it or not."
Elizabeth made no reply and he left her to go to
his ofELce, after charging Sally to look after Miss
Bess, which the kind-hearted Irish girl did to the
best of her ability. Elizabeth's first request was
that she should telephone next door and inquire for
Sally came back with the news that Mrs. Russell
was somewhat tired and was keeping her room but
was otherwise as well as usual.
" Who answered? " asked Elizabeth, lying with
" The colored girl who waits on the doctor.
Wouldn't you like a cup of hot coffee, Miss
Sally instantly regretted the suggestion, for the
very idea made Elizabeth violently sick. The room
swam in waves before her. When she was com-
paratively comfortable again, she told Sally to
draw the curtains and leave her. " I'll ring if I
want anything," she said, and resigned herself to
In a few minutes Sally came back. " BeU has
brought a note from Journey's End," she said.
" She's waiting for an answer."
With an effort Elizabeth forced herself to look
at the envelope, and was both relieved and disap-
ELIZABETH KEPENTS 369
pointed to see that it was directed in Mrs. Russell's
delicate penmanship. She tore it open.
" Dear Elizabeth, will thee come to me when it is
convenient? Mj heart aches for thee and I think
it will comfort us both to talk quietly together.
Amory has gone to make some calls but he insists
that I keep my room and we shall be uninterrupted,
I am quite well again, and I love thee so much, my
" Eunice M. Russell."
Crushing the note against her cheek, Elizabeth
fought back the tears she could not shed before
"Please give me an envelope and some paper
from my desk. And you needn't wait. I feel so
sick that I can't write quickly. Tell Bell the an-
swer will take ten or fifteen minutes. No, I can't
manage ink, — give me a pencil."
Elizabeth propped herself on one elbow, found
she could not endure even that, and after an inter-
val of faintness, half -blinded by tears as she was,
managed to scrawl a reply.
" I would come if I could, dear Aunt Eunice, but
I am in bed with a sick headache. I am afraid I
cannot get up to-day. Don't be sorry for me. I
deserve to feel worse than I do. I am thankful you
are better. My heart is broken to think how I have
hurt you and Amory. I shall always love you.
370 JOUEKEY'S END
Placing the note in its envelope, she sealed it and
rang for Sally. Then she resigned herself to an-
other period of physical misery after which she
slept from sheer exhaustion.
In her big quiet chamber Mrs. Eussell read the
pathetic little letter, read it more than once, as
she sat considering in her white chair by the win-
dow. When Amory came to her that morning, he
looked as though he had slept poorly and he did not
mention Elizabeth. Evidently the night had
brought him no guidance, for he seemed in the same
quietly obstinate mood. He did not tell his aunt of
Elizabeth's final outbreak and she did not guess
that matters were still worse with him, though the
word " always " as used by Elizabeth in the last
sentence of her note had a tone of finality which
puzzled Mrs. Kussell. She had hoped much from
the interview she planned, trusting that Elizabeth
might prove more pliable than Amory. Still there
was a chance that he would be touched by the little
She showed it to him when he came again to her
room at the conclusion of his ofS.ce hour, his duties
ended for the day unless for some unexpected call.
He was very quiet and looked tired but was, as al-
ways, full of affectionate concern for her.
"Amory," she asked after her usual inquiries
as to his patients, "do I remember correctly in
ELIZABETH REPENTS 371
thinking that Admiral Fiske put an elevator into
the house next door for the convenience of his in-
valid wife? "
" I believe there is one," agreed Amory, who was
sitting on the foot of her couch.
" Then thee will not object if I go to see Eliza-
beth, since I shall not have to climb the stairs. I
wrote her a note this morning asking her to come
to me, but she is ill. There is her reply."
Amory read the note in silence, and his aunt's
loving eyes saw no change in his expression.
"Elizabeth is suffering," she said, after giving
him ample opportunity to speak if he were so in-
clined. " I should like to do what is possible for
her comfort since she is alone with servants. At
my request Lydia telephoned half an hour ago and
was told that she was yet unable to lift her head
from her pillow. Does thee still feel that she is un-
repentant for the pain she gave thee? "
"No, Aunt Eunice," said ber nephew very
" Then will thee not let me give her some mes-
sage, or write one for me to take, if thee prefers."
Amory was still silent and his apparent reluc-
tance really shocked Mrs. Russell.
" Amory," she said with as much severity as she
could bring herself to use toward him, " I am as-
tonished at thy attitude. Thy continued resent-
372 JOUKNEY'S END
ment seems to me both cruel and unjust. Eliza-
beth admits that she is heart-broken, — ^what more
does thee await? "
" Thee misunderstands me," said Amory, speak-
ing with an effort. " I am powerless to do anything
at present. Elizabeth sent back the ring I gave her
and commanded me to make no effort to see
Mrs. Russell sighed. " My poor Elizabeth ! " she
said after a long pause. " Surely, Amory, thee will
not take that prohibition seriously. Does thee not
understand that Elizabeth in her great penitence
is but punishing herself? "
" And me at the same time. Aunt Eunice, I will
not have thee troubled. I have forgiven Elizabeth,
— ^yes, even for making thee ill. She has hurt me,
but she warned me that she was liable to do so. I
shall not accept her dismissal as final until she
confirms it in spoken words, and I cannot bring
myself to think she will say them, but I don't know
what to do next. I went to her house last night
after finding her message and the ring, but she was
already in bed and refused to come down."
" Oh, I am glad thee did that, Amory. I only
hope she will not fly off to Bar Harbor or to some
other place before granting thee a chance to see
her. For as soon as you can see each other, she will
relent. I understand now why she thus ended this
ELIZABETH REPENTS 373
letter. But, dear, — she is ill, — ^perhaps she would
see thee as a physician."
" No hope of that. I met Mr. Emerson who said
he suggested my coming and that she would not
hear of it. From his report, she is in a very nervous
condition. I can't do anything at all until she is
more composed. I couldn't visit her merely in my
professional capacity. Aunt Eunice; I feel too in-
tensely to trust myself to remain impersonal."
" If she would only let thee come, she would not
wish thee to remain impersonal," sighed his aunt.
" I owe thee an apology for my reproof just now.
Thee did not deserve it; thee has done all thee
could. But what thee says makes me doubt whether
it is wise to go to her as I intended. Perhaps I
would better wait until to-morrow."
" Elizabeth seems in such a state that thy going
may not better matters, and I can't have thee agi-
tated, Aunt Eunice. Doesn't thee think thee'd bet-
ter write another note, saying thee will come to-
morrow if she is feeling well enough? "
" Perhaps that is wise. I can keep myself calm,
but Elizabeth is another matter and the poor child
has had all she can bear. Hand me my portfolio,
Amory, and I will send by Bell."
Her nephew brought her the leather case and re-
mained silent while she wrote. " Perhaps thee
would care to add a postscript," she suggested,
m WHICH ELIZABETH CHANGES HER MIND
MRS. RUSSELL was spared the effort of
making her proposed visit, for the next
morning Elizabeth telephoned that she
was feeling much better and would come to Jour-
ney's End about ten, an hour when she knew Amory
would not be at home. She waited until she saw
the coup4 with its little green cross leave the gar-
age next door and go slowly down the street.
It was a pale and rather shaky Elizabeth who ap-
peared to Mrs. Russell in the west sitting-room
where a pleasant breeze came through from the sea.
She showed plainly that she was suffering, yet she
was rather unnaturally calm and exhibited only
slight emotion when drawn into the loving embrace
that awaited her.
"Elizabeth, my dear child," said Mrs. Russell
affectionately, and then she only petted her silently
until she felt the tense young figure begin to relax.
" I have come to say good-bye^ Aunt Eunice. I
am going away for a while. Dad has a farm out in
ELIZABETH CHANGES HER MIND 377
the Berkshires and I have induced him to think
he'd like to motor there and see how things are
going. There's a nice little farmhouse and I am
planning to stay for a month or two."
Mrs. Russell made no comment but something in
her manner compelled Elizabeth to add a few more
words. " I cannot stay in Freeport, Aunt Eunice."
"It has always seemed to me that when one
makes a mistake, it is a good plan to face it and live
it down on the spot. And is thee not exaggerating
the importance of this one? "
"It is pretty big," said the girl despondently.
Then she turned and put her arms about Mrs. Rus-
selFs neck. " I am ashamed to stay," she admitted,
" I have not looked you in the face. I cannot."
" Dear, does thee think I judge thee harshly? "
"I don't believe you judge me at all. I cant
" Thee will take thyself to Berkshire and find it
no more bearable there. Thee will have the same
company only under a changed sky."
There was a long pause and then Elizabeth asked
a question. "What would you advise me to do,
Aunt Eunice? "
" If I tell thee, will thee do it? It is the only
possible way to set right again the trouble and con-
fusion into which thy impetuosity has drawn people
who love thee."
378 JOUKNEY'S END
" What is it? I can't promise without knowing."
" Nothing very difficult. I would tell thee to go
to, the stone seat in the lilac walk and wait there
till I send Amory to thee. That is thy direct path
Elizabeth shivered. "You don't understand,
Aunt Eunice. I can't marry Amory. I can't do it.
In the beginning I thought perhaps I could. I meant
to try so hard to be worthy of his love, and just see
what I did — the first time things went cross-grained
with me. I'm not fit to be a doctor's wife. I under-
stood perfectly in the very beginning that Amory's
time and attention belong to the people who need
him, and my love wasn't equal to the first test that
Game. I'm not the girl he ought to marry — I
told him so. He ought to have somebody who can
keep calm and who doesn't fly off the handle the
way I do, somebody like Phebe Ames. He would
have a peaceful life if he married her ; it'll never be
peaceful with me."
" Amory doesn't happen to love Phebe. That is
one of the mysteries of life how and why, choice
comes. I have never before known Amory to pay
any girl more than passing attention till he met
thee. His love is not the thing of a moment. Thee
interested him from the first, and indeed, Elizabeth,
I think thee is taking considerable upon thyself to
decide the matter without giving him a chance to
ELIZABETH CHANGES HER MIND 379
speak. Thee is honest by nature; does it seem to
thee really fair to expect him to accept thy dis-
missal without an interview? He has a right to an
explanation. Thee must admit that."
" I don^t dare see him, Aunt Eunice."
" And why not? "
" Because I love him so much," admitted Eliza-
beth just above a whisper.
" Oh, what a silly little girl ! Thee loves Amory
and he loves thee, and yet for a foolish scruple, thee
would bring unhappiness upon both. Can thee not
trust that love to help thee over whatever difficul-
ties may come? Really, Elizabeth, I wish that thee
was ten years old. I would put thee to bed and
keep thee there till thee came to thy senses."
Elizabeth laughed hysterically.
" Dear," Mrs. Russell went on, " I respect thee
for wishing to be more worthy of love. Did thee
ever hear the story of the missionary who toiled
in a hard and discouraging field? Finally he wrote
to his bishop and asked to be relieved, saying that
God needed a better man than he for that especial
work. And the bishop wrote back saying: *It is
true that a better man is needed for that field, but
God wants you to fee that better man.' Read thy
own lesson, Elizabeth. Out of all the world, Amory
has chosen thee ; can thee not rise to the occasion? "
" I don't see how he can keep on caring for me/'
380 JOUENEY'S END
sobbed Elizabeth. "Aunt Eunice, it is truly be-
cause I love him that I want him to feel free, now
I have got myself into such a mess and made myself
so talked about, and made you ill."
" And thyself as well. Thee has relieved thy own
conscience by returning the ring. I would not give
a straw for Amory's love if it were capable of being
seriously affected by this escapade, but it is not.
He did not lay anything up against thee except my
unfortunate illness, and he has forgiven that now.
"Be absolutely honest, Elizabeth. Is thee not
punishing thyself because thee feels the need of
discipline? And does thee not see that thee is giv-
ing equal pain to Amory? Thee has carried thy
self -discipline quite far enough; thee is being self-
ish. And love and selfishness cannot inhabit the
same heart. Has thee ever heard this little poem?
** 'Self is the only prison that can bind the soul,
Love is the only angel that can bid the gates unroll.
And when he comes to call thee, arise and follow
The way may lie through darkness, but it leads to
light at last.' ''
Mrs. Eussell did not understand Elizabeth's sud-
den movement as she spoke the third line of the
stanza, but it fell on the girPs ear with a profound
shock, bringing back to her the occasion when she
ELIZABETH CHANGES HER MIND 381
first heard it, and all that had subsequently fol-
Then came complete silence, during which Eliza-
beth sat with black head bowed on Mrs. RusselPs
shoulder. The clock in the hall struck twice and a
passing car gave a toot which Mrs. Russell recog-
nized, though the girl did not.
" Has thee had time for meditation, dear? " she
asked. " Will thee do as I advise thee? ''
Elizabeth sat up straight and for the first time
looked into the face beside her.
" Oh, why didn't somebody teach me to be good
before? " she asked with a touching quiver of her
lips. " Yes, Aunt Eunice, I will see Amory, but I
don't believe he stiD wants me."
" It is sunny in the garden and I forgot that thy
head may be sensitive. I will send Amory to thee
here. I think that he just drove in. If he has an
engagement I will come and tell thee."
Mrs. Russell left the room and Elizabeth buried
her face in the sofa pillows. Perhaps ten minutes
passed before the door opened abruptly.
This time Elizabeth did not repulse Amory. She
wept but they were tears of healing and when every
cloud of misunderstanding had been dispersed with
loving words and penitent apologies on both sides,
she let him put the sapphire ring again upon her
finger. Only then did she utter a word of protest.
382 JOURNEY'S END
"It's a risk," she forced herself to say. "I
can't be sure that I won't hurt you again,
" We shall not disagree again," he said, kissing
the finger where shone the blue stone. " I have
learned my lesson. But, dear, there is one thing
that I want done. I want our engagement an-
^^Nowf^^ exclaimed the petrified Elizabeth.
^^ NoWy when everybody is talking about me?"
"Yes," said Amory quietly. "I want to give
you the protection of my name. Nothing will stop
the unkind comments so effectively."
Elizabeth again burst into tears. " I didn't sup-
pose anybody could be so generous, Amory. You
are a revelation to me."
" I love you, Elizabeth, and where love is there
can be no question of generosity. It is only what
is your right, — ^to have me stand by you in a hard
place. I will speak to your father at once and
I hope your mother will consent. It could be done
without any special fuss, just by mentioning it to
a few friends."
Elizabeth was silent, too moved by his tender
consideration easily to express her feelings, but her
silence was not misunderstood. Amory had already
taken a long step toward comprehending Eliza-
beth's rather complex nature.
ELIZABETH CHANGES HER MIND 383
"Your head still aches, doesn^t it?" he asked
presently. " Let me see if I can help it."
" What are you doing to me? " she asked in sur-
prise a few minutes later. " The pain seems to be
going under your touch."
" Something that I can usually do for people I
love, sometimes for others. Uncle Robert used to
suffer from neuralgic headaches and I could often
relieve him. It is simply a certain amount of mag-
netic power I possess which at times reacts
upon others. No, I don^t think it an uncommon
power; many physicians have it to a greater or
lesser extent. I have sometimes found it useful,
especially with children, and it is with them that I
hope to work eventually. One reason that I seemed
cold to you the other day, Elizabeth, was because
I had been giving somewhat of myself to Uncle
Henry in this way, and I was tired."
" People would never disagree if they only fully
understood," said Elizabeth penitently.
" ' To know all is to forgive all,' " quoted Amory.
" How's your head? "
" It has stopped aching entirely."
"And you are not going to the Berkshires this
"No. Poor Dad! I have kept him on pins
and needles for two days. He told me I was
a fool, which was a rude and unfatherly thing
384 JOURNEY'S END
to say, but I will go home and tell Mm he was
Amory laughed. " Will you come into the east
parlor and let me hug you on the spot where we
Elizabeth assented. Somewhat to their surprise
they found Mrs. Russell there before them. It was
seldom that she sat in that room and they supposed
her on the terrace.
" Thy naughty children have decided to be good,"
said Amory as they came to her.
" And quite time," said Mrs. Russell, smiling as
they took her between them. " Elizabeth, I think
thee should at least lie down if thee is unwilling to
retire to bed. Thee looks pale."
" I am going to bed for the rest of the day," said
Elizabeth quietly. "I promised Amory I would.
This evening we are going sailing if I feel like it."
"Be quite sure thee does feel like it. After a
day's sickness, I should prefer a drive."
" It is to be that, if she does not feel like the
Whitewing/^ said Amory. "What has thee done
with the dragon. Aunt Eunice? "
" That is what I was about to ask of thee," re-
plied his aunt, following his glance to the mantel
where the green velvet mat lay in place, but un-
occupied by the lordly carved monster. " Did thee
not remove it? "
ELIZABETH CHANGES HEE MIND 385
"Not I. Perhaps Lydia has put it away from
the dust in some case."
" She says not and I do not believe Lydia would
touch it. She foolishly attributes her injured hand
to its unwillingness to be removed."
" That's interesting ! " said Amory. His glance
instantly traveled to the windows. Then he gave
an exclamation and crossed the room.
" That was what they were after and they have
put the job over! See, here is a piece cut out of
this pane above the catch. Somebody has entered
and taken the dragon."
" If it ends the attempted burglaries, I, for one,
am not sorry to see the dragon go," admitted Mrs.
Russell, when they had convinced themselves that
at some time during the past night, a window had
been forced and the house entered. " But those
vases are valuable and they also are Chinese — ^why
did the thief not take them? "
Amory gave the explanation so far as he knew
it, by putting together the warning from his
Chinese patient, Caroline's letters and Uncle
Henry's information concerning secret brother-
hoods. That nothing was missing except the dragon
seemed to prove the theory.
" And a good riddance, too ! " he ended. " I
shouldn't wonder if the unheard-of delay about the
burglar-alarm was a part of the scheme, for as I
386 JOUKNEY'S END
drove home just now the electrician stopped me to
say he would start work to-morrow."
" I wonder whether we shall ever know anything
more about it," Elizabeth said thoughtfully, when
Mrs. Russell had gone to telephone for a glazier to
repair the window.
" Nothing is impossible," said Amory. " The
dragon may yet come home to roost."
" I hope he won^t. I never liked him ; he made
me feel creepy and I think he made me hateful the
other day. I said so much I never meant to say.
Amory, you must acknowledge now that there was
something in what that palmist told us. We did
get mixed up in a mess — ^not physical danger, as I
mistakenly took it to mean — but my recklessness
and selfishness precipitated a storm that came near
wrecking our happiness."
" I still think the palmist knew nothing about it,"
said Amory in amusement, holding her in the em-
brace she had promised. " But if you want to be-
lieve it, go ahead, only admit that we have safely
weathered the storm. But after this. Queen Bess,
we will keep away from booths with palmists or
fortune-tellers of any kind, yes — and from Chinese
dragons that give you the creeps."
IN WHICH MBS. EMEBSON COMBS HOME AND JOHN
HOWLAND VISITS HIS SAFE
AFTER they discovered that the dragon was
gone, Elizabeth went home and to a rest
that truly deserved the name. Her cheek
against the sapphire ring, she drifted into peaceful
The afternoon was well advanced before she
roused to consciousness that she was no longer
" Goodness, Mother ! " she exclaimed. " Did you
come home? What for? "
" I shouldn't think you would need to ask, Eliza-
beth," replied her mother, offering a cold caress.
"Tuesday's papers are a sufficient reason, not to
mention the letters I have received. I came home to
see what can be done."
" It's all over but the shouting," said Elizabeth
lightly, lying down again with her face turned
away. " I acted like an idiot and had to take the
"You speak as though the consequences were
388 JOUKNEY'S END
comprised merely in what happened to the car. Do
you realize how people are talking about you? "
" Let 'em," replied Elizabeth disrespectfully.
" Grossip is not the trivial thing you consider it,
and this time, Elizabeth, you have really over-
stepped all bounds."
^^ Except for the accident I did nothing I haven't
" That may be. This time you have incurred
most imfortunate publicity."
" It's horrid, I know, but is it the publicity you
object to, or what I did? "
" Elizabeth, you really are impossible. One led
to the other."
" But you wouldn't care what I did so long as
nobody knew? I just want to get your point of
view. Mother. Is it the being talked about that is
the indiscretion? "
" We will not discuss it," said Mrs. Emerson in
her stateliest manner. "The important thing is
what is to be done next. I am going to send for
Amory and tell him that the engagement must be
announced. That is the quickest way to stop the
" If that's all, you needn't bother him, Mother,'*
observed Elizabeth nonchalantly. " He has already
told me that he wished it made public immediately
and he's spoken to Dad."
MKS. EMERSON COMES HOME 389
Between her fingers, Elizabeth watched Mrs.
Emerson's face and was pleased with the expres-
sion of blank surprise which crossed it at this state-
ment. Another she liked less succeeded it and the
whole situation flashed upon Elizabeth. Her
mother expected Amory to be sufficiently annoyed
over her escapade to contemplate breaking the en-
gagement and in order to prevent this catastrophe,
she had abandoned her two older daughters and
rushed to the rescue.
A gleam of anger lighted Elizabeth's eyes, fol-
lowed by a sudden conviction that it was impossible
for Mrs. Emerson ever to understand Amory's na-
ture, and that all discussion was useless. Why
should she be angry with her mother for drawing
conclusions after her own mind? — ^had not she,
Elizabeth, also been small-minded enough to be
overcome with surprise at his generosity? But a
comforting thought followed, — she had loved
Amory enough to try to spare him the embarrass-
ment arising from her misdoing, and he had not
wished to be spared.
The flash of anger died down and Elizabeth left
unuttered the hasty words that had been on her
lips. She lay watching her mother's face and when
Mrs. Emerson again spoke, her tone showed relief.
" That Amory feels so simplifies matters very
much," she said cheerfully. " Originally I planned
390 JOUKNEY'S END
a lunclieon, but tliat would mean more delay tlian is
" I don't want a lunclieon. Tell Mrs. Jardine ;
she'll notify the entire town."
" Alice Jardine will be surprised," said Mrs. Em-
erson in satisfaction. "I shall be lunching with
Mrs. Beeson to-morrow and I will drop a word.
And you had better write notes to some of the
Elizabeth started to refuse impatiently, thought
better of it and remained silent.
" And of course you may wear your ring publicly.
By the way, I have not looked at it. Let me see
Drawing her hand from under her cheek, Eliza-
beth reluctantly held it out. Her mother gave an
" I was disappointed when you wrote that it was
not a diamond, but this is a wonderful stone, Bess.
And its setting is most unusual. It must have cost
several hundred dollars."
" I haven't an idea of its value and I don't want
to know," snapped Elizabeth, snatching back her
hand. "I would love it if it wasn't worth ten
" You can rest assured that no girl of your set
is likely to have a more valuable engagement ring.
Some time when we are in Boston "
MKS. EMERSON COMES HOME 391
" Once and for all, Mother, I will not show my
ring to any jeweler. Please understand that.''
" Elizabeth, do keep your temper. There's no
reason for you to be so touchy. I only want you
to realize that such a sapphire is no small gift and
yet it is in perfect taste."
"I know it!" sighed Elizabeth. "Oh, well,
Mother, I'll try to be decent. Amory is going to
take me out this evening if I feel like it. You can
see him then but you won't need to try to manage
him; his own fine instincts tell him what is the
most considerate thing for me."
" I am indeed relieved to find you both so reason-
able. And how about your future plans? I sup-
pose you will live at Journey's End, for Amory
won't wish to leave his aunt. But I should have it
distinctly understood in the beginning, Elizabeth,
that I was to be mistress in my own house, and I
should dismiss old Lydia. The other servants will
probably be easier to get on with."
"You overlook one thing. Mother,'^ said Eliza-
beth after a pause in which she was struggling to
control herself. "Journey's End will indeed be
under the charge of its mistress — and she happens
to be Mrs. Robert Russell. I don't think Mrs.
Amory will take her place."
" You will have difficulties unless things are dis-
tinctly understood before you go there."
392 JOUENEY'S END
" Journey's End belongs to Aunt Eunice. She
has told me that she is delighted to have Amory
bring me home. What financial arrangements
Amory will make, I don't know and I don't care.
I only know that I shall never do or say one thing
to make Aunt Eunice feel she must step aside. And
as for old Lydia, I can assure you that when she is
past helpfulness, the pleasantest room in Journey's
End will be placed at her disposal and a nurse en-
gaged to wait on her as long as she lives. That's
the way the Russells do things, Mother."
" Well, we won't discuss the matter to-day. Are
you sick or just resting? "
"I was sick yesterday. I am going to get up
presently. You look tired yourself. Mother; why
don't you lie down? There's nothing to see to, for
I ordered dinner and you'll have nearly two hours
before Dad comes home. How are the girls? "
Mrs. Emerson told her while gradually leaving
the room. When she was really gone, her daughter
drew a long sigh of relief, and then resolved that if
it were a possible thing, she would not permit her-
self to be ruffled by anything her mother might do,
and that she would take quietly and cheerfully the
stir inevitably raised by the making public of her
It proved considerable, coming so soon upon the
notoriety Elizabeth had recently attained, and yet
MES. EMEKSON COMES HOME 393
the wisdom of the announcement was at once ap-
parent. After the first incredulous exclamations,
her little world uttered others of surprised con-
gratulation, of more respectful comment upon her
escapade, veering to the opinion that there was
more in the affair than had yet been made public,
and finally placing the blame where much of it
really belonged, at Olive Templeton^s door. Eliza-
beth was truly amazed at the shelter and protection
afforded by Amory's name.
Amory himself took his place as her acknowl-
edged suitor with a grave dignity, their first public
appearance being at the Saturday night dance at
the Yacht Club, properly chaperoned by Elizabeth's
mother. To encounter that assemblage cost Eliza-
beth some embarrassment, but she came with a quiet
manner that carried her over the first awkward
moments in the dressing-room where she was the
recipient of many congratulations, sincere or half-
envious. She had been fearful of encountering
Clive, but that young gentleman, perceiving public
opinion turning against him, had taken hims#f out
Amory's manner was perfect and the evening was
not half over before Elizabeth came to complete
realization that she would not be haunted by her
past misdeeds. Her mother appreciated this fact
even earlier, and heard with solid satisfaction the
394 JOUENEY'S END
respectful congratulations. She gave no sign that
she thought what some frankly said, that Eliza-
beth was a fortunate girl. To Mrs. Jardine she
was very gracious, expatiated upon its being a
love-match pure and simple, originating in the
many tastes they shared in common, and acknowl-
edged the probability of an early wedding. Mrs.
Jardine had hard work to conceal her mortification
but managed on the whole to keep a serene face,
though inwardly boiling with wrath over Mrs. Em-
Doris, however, one of a bevy of young girls
crowding around to admire Elizabeth's ring, took
the opportunity to give her hand a sudden squeeze.
" Everybody is congratulating you, Bess," she whis-
pered. "I'm going to congratulate Dr. Russell.
The luck isn't all yours."
Elizabeth caught her in an impulsive embrace.
" That's the sweetest thing anybody has said to-
night," she answered, and Doris, looking into her
eyes, found there a look no one else had seen.
She was as good as her word and did speak to
Amory, who had asked her for a dance. The sight
of them, talking earnestly as they danced, caused
Mrs. Jardine an extra pang. Amory was absorbed
in what Doris was saying, but how could she know
that they talked of Elizabeth?
The echoes of that engagement reached other
MRS. EMERSON COMES HOME 395
circles of Freeport. Elizabeth and her mother
were presently receiving calls from the very exclu-
sive one that represented old Freeport, the long-es-
tablished wealthy families, some of them Friends,
who had never mingled much with more recent
comers. These calls completed Mrs. Emerson's
deep satisfaction. There could be no x)ossible doubt
that her daughter's engagement to Dr. Russell had
opened to her every desirable door in town.
Nor did the interest in the affair end with its
purely social aspects. It was spoken of in numer-
ous places of business, and one afternoon when
Amory and Elizabeth were out in the Whiteioingj
a conversation took place in a certain down-town
office, which would have been of intense interest to
both. The office was that of John Howland, and the
talk took place between him and Henry Avery, who
had called on a matter of business. Having ar-
ranged it, something caused the lawyer to refer to
Mrs. Russell, and from her they passed to Amory.
" What do you think of his engagement? " John
Howland asked. " Do you know the girl? "
" Slightly. Amory has brought her to the house.
Yes, on the whole, I feel attracted to Elizabeth."
" My Jack seems to like her, but my wife thinks
she has been rather fast. Can Amory stand
"Elizabeth struck me as a high-spirited girl,"
396 JOUKNEY'S END
observed Mr. Avery thoughtfully, "but as a girl
who was really pure and sweet, though she may
be guilty of some youthful indiscretions. Eunice
seems fond of her and Eunice is a good judge. I
think Amory is very much in love with Elizabeth
and she with him. Amory himself is so fine, that
his love will lift hers to its own level. They enjoy
a good deal in common, and that is a good basis for
a happy marriage. I should say that Elizabeth
was the pick of the Emerson girls, that is for char-
acter and possibilities of development. I should
feel very badly if Amory made an unfortunate
choice, but I believe we can trust him to know what
he is doing. He is not a boy who is governed by
"No," said John Howland, "not like poor
Charles. I should like to know how much of
Amory's poise is natural and how much is due to
his home training. I wish Robert had lived to see
how well he is turning out."
The eyes of the two met and there was in their
gaze the consciousness of some knowledge in com-
" Did you hear," John Howland went on, " about
George McKim's girl? She was taken seriously ill
the other night and they called Utter. He was puz-
zled, for the symptoms were extremely peculiar and
blind. He worked over her half the night and ^e
MRS. EMERSON COMES HOME 397
grew steadily worse. Finally McKim begged him to
call in another doctor and he chose Amory. Amory
diagnosed it as appendicitis and advised an im-
mediate operation. I don't understand the tech-
nicalities of the case, but Utter maintained it
couldn't be that from the locality of the pain.
Amory stuck to his opinion and Utter finally agreed
that though the symptoms were peculiar no other
theory covered them. So he withdrew his objection
and asked Amory to operate. They waited only
for the dawn and, as soon as it was light enough,
Utt^r administered the ether and Amory did the
job. His diagnosis was perfectly correct; it was
an obscure and most unusual case of appendicitis,
and Gertrude could not have lived two hours longer
without the operation. Utter admits it generously
and gives Amory full credit. McKim told me
all about it with the tears rolling down his
" Amory did a rather wonderful thing for Alex-
ander Hudson's baby grandson," said Mr. Avery
thoughtfully, " some operation that is very difficult
on such a tiny child. And he was called to Boston
yesterday in consultation by some man who had
known him in France. I think it remarkable that
he should so soon inspire such confidence in his
Again his eyes met those of the lawyer. " John,"
398 JOUKNEY'S END
he asked, after a glance at the door leading into the
outer office, " how long is it going to be before that
trust in Kobert's will reaches maturity? "
"Less than two years, I think," Mr. Howland
replied in a low tone. "Those securities Kobert
set aside have increased tremendously in value.
The trust will cumulate considerably before the
time Eobert anticipated."
" It looks as though other things would be ready
for it. Let me take a look at those conditions,
Mr. Howland locked the office door and went to
the safe in the corner.
"Has Amory ever asked you any questions?"
inquired Mr. Avery, watching him open it and un-
lock an inner compartment.
" Only one, whether his aunt knew the purpose
of the trust. I told him she did not and he has
never spoken of it again. I don't think it occurs
to him that it can concern him. Here are the con-
He took out a single sheet of paper which the
two read in silence.
"WelM," said Henry Avery thoughtfully.
" Even in these days of high prices, that ought to
build and equip as large a hospital as Freeport will
ever need. And the endowment — ^how much do you
calculate that will bring in yearly? "
MKS. EMERSON COMES HOME 399
"It should be around thirty thousand, more
rather than less."
" With that plant and backing, Amory ought to
be able to do about everything he is likely to want
Taking the paper, Mr. Avery read aloud : " ' The
same board of trustees to be a self-perpetuating
body, serving without pay ; the physician in charge
of this hospital to be my nephew, Amory Russell, if
in the opinion of the said board of trustees he has
shown himself to be possessed of the necessary pro-
fessional requirements, and as a man has proved
himself responsible and trustworthy. If for any
reason he does not wish to accept the position or is
considered by the board unfitted for its great re-
sjwnsibilities, they shall have full power to choose
a physician qualified to discharge its duties. But
it is my earnest hope that my nephew may prove
himself equal to this opportunity. I hope that he
may choose Freeport as the place to begin his prac-
tice and by the time this trust matures, may have
established himself in the confidence and respect of
the town.' "
Henry Avery laid down the paper and took off his
glasses. "I think," he said thoughtfully, "the
trustees, — ^you and Andrew and I — ^will be of one
mind. Amory has certainly come up to what Rob-
ert hoped and expected of him. And on the day
400 JOURNEY'S END
that trust is made public, Amory will have the sur-
prise of his life."
" His staying in Freeport is no part of the con-
ditions, merely a wish on Robert's part, but still I
am glad that it worked out that way. I went so
far as to tell Amory when, at Mrs. Russell's re-
quest, he asked my advice, that I thought he would
not lose by doing what seemed obviously his duty
to his aunt."
" And I," observed Henry Avery, smiling, " told
him that I thought he would not regret his decision
to stay in Freeport.
" Of course," he went on, " Ruth knows nothing
of this trust and I cannot say anything to her until
it matures. From Robert's directions, the hospital
is to be a general one, but I have noticed that
Amory is especially interested in children and
seems to have success in dealing with them. I have
made up my mind when the time comes, to make
an additional endowment, and by the way, John, I
want this put into a codicil to my will. Get it into
shape for me later. This endowment is to be for a
children's ward, or perhaps a separate building if
it seems best, but to be in Amory 's charge, and it is
to be known as the Putnam Avery Memorial."
There fell a silence during which John Howland
looked out of the office window. After a time
Henry Avery spoke again.
MRS. EMERSON COMES HOME 401
" Unless," he said deliberately, " you and Emily
would like to go shares with Ruth and me, and
make it in memory of both Tom and Putnam.
Somehow, I think that would please Amory even
IN WHICH AMORY AND ELIZABETH GO OUT IN THE
WHITEWINQ AND THE DRAGON VANISHES FOREVER
WHILE this momentous conversation was
going on, Amory and Elizabeth, entirely
unaware that they were the subject of
any discussion, were in the Whitewing, scudding
before a fair wind toward the open sea.
Elizabeth did not know their destination and
Amory would not tell her. He was in a mischievous
boyish mood which she had learned to recognize as
liable to follow upon a period of professional strain.
As a sort of safety valve he would tease her gently
or break out in some prankish performance which
amused her. To-day a fairly large steamer lay
temporarily disabled in the tide-way and Amory,
seizing his megaphone, quite gravely offered her a
tow. The passengers, crowding to the rail to watch
the Whitewing pass, roared with laughter.
Elizabeth laughed too. She held the tiller and
Amory, in his rubber-soled shoes, stood on the gun-
wale, clutching a stay. He looked a mere boy with
his hair on end in the wind and the captain doubt-
THE DRAGON VANISHES FOREVER 403
less took hint for one as he calmly advised him
** not to get fresh, sonny ! ''
" Don't you feel properly set down? " asked
Elizabeth as they left the steamer behind and
Amory came aft to her, his eyes yet full of fun.
"Frightfully squelched. Don't you notice my
" I haven't so far. I should think you'd feel aw-
fully pleased and proud that you were called yes-
terday to that hospital in Boston. My head is
swelled over it if yours isn't."
" Of course I was pleased that Dr. Halliwell
wanted me but I learned a lot, too, and that is what
counts most. Afterwards I had an adventure. Be-
cause of my adventure we are out here in the harbor
Elizabeth looked at him wonderingly. " So that
was why you won't tell me where we are going.
I thought it was probably a picnic."
"No picnic beyond two doughnuts." Amory
drew a paper bag from his pocket. " Dear me ! "
he exclaimed anxiously, "they are not at all the
Producing a folding-rule, he devoted his full at-
tention to those doughnuts with an absurd concern
that convulsed Elizabeth.
" You've measured them in every possible direc-
tion. That one is bigger ; give it to me."
404 JOUKNEY'S END
" I won't," said Amory. " I'm bigger than you
For two minutes they scrapped like children and
finished by knocking one doughnut overboard.
Peace restored, they scrupulously divided the re-
maining one, Amory even counting out the crumbs
" I think you might have sneaked an apple," he
said reproachfully. " I was in a tearing hurry."
" It isn't good for little boys to eat between meals.
Tell me now about your adventure."
" It was some adventure," said Amory, shutting
his pocket-knife and rumpling his hair still more.
" Luff a bit, Elizabeth. Well, when Halliwell asked
me to come to town yesterday, my car was on the
blink, so I took the train. After leaving the hos-
pital, I started to walk to the station, through those
crooked streets, you know, around the region of the
" Yes, I know. I'm always getting lost there."
" Some unset stones in a jeweler's window caught
my eye and I stopped to look at them. I never wore
a ring in my life and never shall, except the plain
one you will put on my finger, Queen Bess, but I
like stones. You won't mind wearing them for me,
will you? "
Elizabeth's answer having been placed on record,
Amory continued his story.
THE DRAGON VANISHES FOREVER 405
" I saw an uncommon opal and went in to look
at it. The place was a sort of antique shop ; there
were old silver things and curiosities, some of them
valuable. I asked for the opal and while the man
was getting it from the window, I looked about.
What do you suppose I saw? "
" Give it up ! '^ said Elizabeth promptly. " I hate
to guess things, Amory."
" Well,^^ said Amory dramatically, " on a stand
behind the counter, large as life and twice as nat-
ural, sat that Chinese dragon which lately graced
the east parlor at Journey's End ! "
Elizabeth was quite as much surprised as Amory
anticipated. In her excitement, she very nearly
fouled a fishing-boat.
Having straightened out the Whitewing and
given the fisherman a cheerful apology, Amory
"There it sat grinning devilishly, and, to my
amazement, about its neck was the jade and pearl
pendant which always hung there until Aunt
Eunice gave it to Caroline !
" I asked to see it and the proprietor handed it
over. It wasn't possible for me to be mistaken, —
that was the identical dragon that I remember as
long as I remember anything at Journey's End. I
looked it over minutely and looked at the man in
charge. He was elderly and evidently a gentleman,
406 JOUKNEY'S END
so finally I told him that I was interested in that
dragon ; that I had seen it before, and that I should
very much like to know how it came into his posses-
"He looked me over with equal keenness and
concluded that there was no reason to suspect me
of sinister designs, so he said frankly that there
had been some kind of row and a stabbing affray
in the Chinese quarter, the police were called in,
and as a result this dragon found itself in court
where nobody claimed it. After an interval he
"I asked if anybody had been in to look at it
since it came into his possession. He said it had
not been displayed in the window, but that very
morning a Chinese who chanced to enter the shop
on another errand had examined it carefully and
seemed rather excited about it. I asked if this
customer wished to buy it and he said he made no
offer and did not even ask its price. Then he openly
asked me why I was interested.
"After considering a moment, I told him the
whole story. I could not see that it would do any
harm. He was greatly interested and remarked
that it was an odd affair. I told him all I knew, —
what Uncle Henry told me — and there having al-
ready been blood shed over it does go far toward
proving his theory. While we were talking an-
THE DRAGON YANISLJEfe FOREVER ^^^
other man came into the shop and the proprietor
fairly fell upon his neck and dragged him to me,
introducing him as Professor Nelson, the oriental-
ist, you know.
" Well, Queen Bess, we three had a heart-to-heart
talk and I forgot all about my train to Freeport.
I repeated my story for Professor Nelson's benefit
and in return he told me why the dragon was de-
sired by the Chinese.
" According to Professor Nelson, the dragon is,
or rather it represents, the tutelary spirit of a
powerful and old secret society, originating in
China, but with far-reaching branches in other
countries. He obtained this information from the
characters on the amulet, but he was unable to
explain why the dragon should have stood for years
on the mantel at Journey's End and have remained
dormant, so to speak, until Aunt Eunice gave the
jade pendant to Carol. He could only suggest that
the Russell who originally brought it from China
did so without being traced by any members of the
Tong, but that Yin Luk must be one of them, and
from seeing the amulet, knew that it came from this
tutelary image of so much importance.
" I remarked that the dragon must be far older
than Yin Luk, since he was apparently around my
own age. It was doubtless at Journey's End when
he came into this world.
493 J.OmtNEY'S END
" Professor Nelson agreed, and said the dragon
was centuries old, but so was the Tong, and the
custom of reverencing it passed down from one
generation to the next. He thought that the
Chinese who came first to Journey's End, very
likely not Yin himself, though certainly sent by
Yin's connivance, came unprepared for the shock
of being ushered straight into the presence of the
lost treasure. Having already presented the letter
of introduction, he did not dare to steal the dragon
on the spot, but simply took French leave, for-
getting in his excitement his hat and cane. He re-
ported to headquarters and there followed the
series of attempted burglaries, culminating in suc-
cess. As to how the amulet and dragon again came
together, he could offer no explanation, except that
the same gang probably had a hand in it. It all
sounds plausible enough, doesn't it?
"As for its diabolical qualities, attributed by
Yin in his tale to Caroline," Amory went on, " the
professor sniffed. He said the members of the
Tong might believe it possessed supernatural qual-
ities, doubtless did so believe, and that the amulet,
according to their notions, very probably was for
the purpose of keeping it in check. He said there
was an incredible amount of superstition connected
with these tutelary images and no limit to the
length the members would go in their respect for
THE DRAGON VANISHES FOREYER 409
them. He advised the proprietor of the shop to get
rid of it at once. If he didn't, he would certainly
arrive some morning to find that his place had been
" To my amusement, the proprietor said he was
convinced that the dragon was rightfully my prop-
erty, and that he would let me have it for the very
moderate amount he had paid, a sum that didn't
begin to represent its real value as a work of art.
" At this the professor smiled and offered me the
same advice, saying if I took it home there would
soon be more burglars, for the Tong was undoubt-
edly again on its track. He said it was an ill thing
to harbor, and would probably be a source of
trouble until it was disposed of entirely. I asked if
the amulet, which really belongs to Carol, was
included in the curse and he said he thought not,
that it was of importance only so long as the dragon
was in existence."
" And did you buy it? '' asked Elizabeth, who had
" I did. I gave him what he paid for it and I
brought it with me to Freeport, but not to Jour-
ney's End. That seemed too much like what I told
you — coming home to roost, and bringing more
trouble with it. I stuck it into one of those steel
boxes in the station waiting-room where you check
things and bring away the key. Then I thought it
410 JOUKNEI-S ENI>
over and concluded that ] * id a right to destroy
the dragon if I wished. I know Aunt Eunice al-
ways disliked it and openly said she was glad it
was gone ; I am quite certain it had an ugly story,
for Uncle Kobert would never tell me anything
about it. Queen Bess, the ivory dragon is reposing
in that locker yonder, and when we clear Clam as
we shall do in five minutes — you'd better let me
take the tiller for it looks pretty choppy — when we
are out in open ocean, that dragon is going over-
board and I hope it will never rise again. The
pendant I took off and shall send back to Caroline.''
Presently they rounded Clam and the Whitewing
keeled over under a stiffer breeze. Elizabeth
opened the locker and let out the dragon.
" It is ugly," she observed, " worse than that —
it is wicked. I am glad it is never going to live
with us. Do you suppose any Chinese knows that
you got it again? "
"I don't see how they could. The proprietor
said if they inquired for the dragon, he should
simply say that he sold it and he promised neither
to describe me nor to give my name, which of course
I told him. He was quite as anxious as I to get rid
of the beast. I think the water is deep enough here,
Elizabeth. Throw it over and may it never rise up
to trouble any one."
Elizabeth tossed the dragon to leeward and they
THE DEAGON VANISHES FOREYEE 411
both watched it disappear through a green wave.
" I am glad it is gone,'' she said gravely. " I don't
think it was ' canny,' as my Scotch nurse used to
say. I should always have hated it, for it heard the
hateful things I once said to you, Amory."
Amory only smiled and drew her to a seat beside
him. After drowning the dragon, he had imme-
diately turned again toward the harbor, but they
were far from any other boats. Elizabeth sat
within his encircling arm, her head frankly on his
shoulder, and they talked of their approaching
wedding, set definitely for the middle of October.
" Since we can't sail off in the Whitewing^ I am
going to do something equally unconventional and
unheard-of," she said. " I arranged it with Dad,
who was delighted, and then broke the news to
Mother, who sent for her smelling-salts. I don't
quite know what you will say, Amory, but I sup-
pose it is time you knew."
" I'll try to bear up. Go ahead."
" It may prove a shock," said Elizabeth saucily,
"to hear that I intend to vanish for an entire
week before my wedding, reappearing only the
night before. Neither you nor Mother is to know
where I am. I'm going to take a trial wedding-trip
— with another man ! "
Elizabeth didn't get the rise she expected.
Amory merely kissed her cheek and laughed a little.
412 JOTJKNEY'S END
" Dear, that is sweet of you. I liave been feeling
sorry for your father right along. He does so hate
to give you up. I won't even ask where you are
" Mother is in despair, but I am going to put it
through even though nothing else gets done. I
have seen more brides who were half dead with the
fuss and confusion of that last week. I was brides-
maid for Connie Haskell and she was so tired that
she burst out crying while she was changing into
her traveling dress. I will give in to Mother about
everything else; I've let her plan a big church
wedding, and I've been positively angelic about my
clothes — ^you'll like those dresses, Amory, and Aunt
Eunice" — Elizabeth gave a little laugh — "she
won't lecture me for any of my hats. But since I
am only going across the gardens to Journey's End,
Mother hasn't any chance to plan for a house. I
told her that we were to have a suite on the second
floor, and that you were going to keep the room
you've always had, and mine was to be the big front
one on the same side with a door cut through to
yours. The girls can open all the wedding gifts
and list them and Mother can decide anything that
comes up — she'd do it anyway, and Dad and I are
going off in my car for a week. I shall devote my-
self to making him have the nicest possible time.
I'll tell Aunt Eunice where we shall be, so if there
THE DEAGON VANISHES FOREVER 413
really is something for which I absolutely have to
be consulted, you and you alone will be able to
reach me, but aside from that, it is to be a dead
secret. I am coming home the night before my
wedding perfectly fresh and rested and ready to be
the best of comrades."
" You're a brick. Queen Bess. I have pitied more
than one poor little bride who was so worn out that
she didn't have any fun."
" I shall not be tired, and we'll have no end of
fun. And you mustn't feel Dad is unwilling to let
me marry you; he isn't, only he hates to give me
up. He is so happy to think of our being alone to-
gether a whole week. Is it too much to ask of you,
"It's nothing compared with what I asked of
him. I shall find that week frightfully long and
miss you horribly, but I love you for planning it."
" I wish I didn't have to come back to a church
wedding. What I'd like best of all is something I
can't have, because it isn't my right, and that is an
outdoor wedding in the garden of Journey's End.
No, it can't be done; Mother would faint at the
suggestion. But I'd love it. Was any girl ever
" Not that I know of. Grandfather Russell had
no daughters. Uftcle Robert brought Aunt Eunice
there as a bride."
414 JOURNEY'S END
"Is that how the house got its name? From
* journeys end in lovers meeting'?"
Amory shook his head. " It has been that for us^
hasn't it? But Uncle Robert told me it was rather
* Journeys end in welcome to the weary.' Why not
call it both? "
" Sometime," mused Elizabeth, her head still on
Amory's shoulder, "the garden at Journey's End
shall know a wedding. It can't be that of our son,
because he will have to be married from the home
of his fiancee. But our daughter" — Elizabeth
went on shyly, with down-dropped lashes almost
touching her cheek, — " our daughter shall be mar-
ried in the garden in the time of larkspurs. She
will believe it to be entirely her own idea, so tact-
fully will it be put into her mind."
" Suppose she is a contrary young person who
prefers a December wedding?" asked Amory
lightly but with an odd note in his voice.
" She will be both good and beautiful, she will
obey her mother and look precisely like her father."
" And what? " asked Amory, tightening the arm
that encircled Elizabeth and drawing her yet closer,
" is the name of this happy little bride? "
" Her name," replied Elizabeth, and a very lovely
expression crossed the face she turned to Amory,
" will be Eunice."
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